The Ivory Doll
by The Manic Magician
Summary: Gaster becomes enthralled with Sans' younger brother.
1. Beginning

"The next candidate is ready to speak with you, doctor."

Gaster looks up from the endless stacks of paperwork on his desk, frowning at the level of exasperation in his assistant's voice.

"Are they an unlikely candidate?" He had pinned most of his hopes on this one.

"Oh no. Just…different. You'll see what I mean when you meet him."

Intrigued, Gaster follows Em towards the small conference room they set aside for interviews. He dismisses her once they reach the room, and he steps inside.

A stout little skeleton sits there waiting. His visitor's badge is pinned to a dress shirt that's worn and frayed around the edges. Gaster gets the impression this is a monster doing the best to utilize limited resources.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Dr. Gaster."

"Sans." The other rumbles. Despite the skeletons young age—his application listed that he'd recently turned 19—his voice is nearly as deep as Gaster's.

"Let's get right to it." Gaster takes the seat besides Sans.

Suddenly, an obnoxiously loud farting noise rips through the room, originating on Gaster's chair. Sans' grin stretches impossibly wide as the scientist freezes up, mortified, not sure what happened.

When he gets over his shock he lifts himself up and inspects the chair—a pink whoopie cushion was the cause. Gaster holds the limp little thing and looks over at Sans. The monster looks to be struggling to stifle his laughter.

"Did…Did you put this here?"

Sans only shrugs. Despite himself, despite the embarrassment, Gaster can't help but admire Sans' intrepidness. He's here applying for one of the most prestigious jobs in the entire Underground—and he pulls a prank. He understands now, what Em was hinting at.

Gaster can't help it—he actually chuckles aloud. After the king instated him as the Royal Scientist, no one has tried to joke with him. There's always some degree of seriousness when he's around. Sans' crude humor is nearly charming.

"Well then." He sets the deflated cushion aside for the moment. "I'm going to be frank with you, Sans."

"Sure, if you prefer Frank to Gaster." Sans snickers. His grin is stretched wide, full of levity, but Gaster can see the desperation flickering in the skeleton's eye sockets. He wants this.

Gaster decides to ignore Sans' comment and press on. "I've read your thesis, you're quite sharp."

"Oh, doc." Sans would be batting his eyelashes if he had any. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

"But the reason you're here today is because of your mastery of magic." Finally, Sans doesn't interrupt with a joke. He's really listening. "Your maneuverability of blue magic is truly phenomenal. That's why I'd like you to assist my team with Project BOMB."

"Bomb?" Gaster knows Sans is just _waiting_ to make a joke about the project's name.

"I'll explain in further detail, but I want you to meet the team first."

Gaster is at the door before another thought pops into his head. He turns around to face Sans; he's stuffing the whoopie cushion into his jacket pocket.

"You _do_ want the position, yes?"

Sans had applied to work as a scientist in the central lab, unaware of any specifics until Gaster just now gave him the sparsest of explanations. He might not be interested in magical research, despite his talent.

But Gaster isn't surprised when Sans nods in the affirmative.

"Of course. Anythin' I can do to help."

"Wonderful. I'll have all the paperwork drawn up later today."

Sans sticks out his hand for a shake.

"Put 'er there."

Gaster reaches forward to shake his hand, but draws back at the last second. He spies the telltale silver shine of a hand buzzer around one of Sans' fingers.

"Oh no. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…"

"Was worth a shot."

* * *

Gaster summons his team into his office to make introductions. It's a small crew of three, now four with the addition of Sans. Though the lab at large staffs 100 or so monsters, Gaster is rather picky when it comes to the staff he personally works with. He doesn't suffer fools gladly; he needs monsters who are quick-witted, who can adapt to changing situations and problems. As a result, he's gathered a motley crew, each member with their own quirks and neuroses.

"Everyone, introduce yourselves to Sans."

Em slithers forward first. A snakelike monster, Em uses her massive jaws and her magic in lieu of additional limbs. The unapologetic "mother" of the group.

"Em. Glad to have you with us, Sans."

Gaster's second assistant gives a nod instead of a handshake. The cat monster's hands twitch at his sides, his body eager for a smoke break that wouldn't be coming for a few hours yet. "Name's Anton. Nice to meet ya, kid."

Before Sans can throw out a snarky comment about Anton's nickname for him, Gaster's final assistant bounds forward eagerly. Sans' bones rattle with his long and enthusiastic handshake.

"Looking forward to working with you! My name's Saul." Saul comes from a very humanoid species of monster. The two significant features that divide them are their ashen gray skin and bulging eyes. Such similarities to humans meant Saul led a relatively isolated childhood. He compensates for the loneliness now with an abundance of enthusiasm.

Gaster watches his assistants chatter amongst each other. A small smile upturns his face. Each of them alone are vulnerable, flawed. But thanks to Gaster, they are united. Thanks to Gaster, their combined intellects will bring about greatness.

"Come now." Gaster interrupts their conversation. "It's time to show Sans what we do here."

Gaster leads them to a large room. He holds the door wide, beckoning Sans in first.

"This is Project BOMB."

Sans looks around the room. There are twenty tubes, lined in neat rows. Many are occupied; drifting inside them, in bubbling fluid, are several constructs, like animal skulls.

Sans steps towards the one nearest to him, with a canine-esque structure. He taps lightly on the glass, but the beast inside the tube doesn't so much as twitch.

"BOMB stands for Barrier Obliteration Magic Beasts." Gaster explains. He's pleased that there's no fear in Sans' expression. His visage reflected back by the glass of the tube, his newest assistant only looks inquisitive and determined. Good.

"But what _are_ these things?"

Sans circles around, getting a closer look at the other samples. Three of them are misshapen, early failures that were only kept because there's still room for them. Others are variations on the basic animal types: lizard, bird, small and large mammal. All different shapes and sizes, but all still looking decidedly deadly.

"They are artificially-created magical attacks."

Gaster sweeps to a nearby computer monitor. Always open on the monitors are the status conditions of the subjects. He gives the reports a cursory glance to make sure none of the beasts require immediate aid, then calls up a video file to the main screen. His assistants crowd around him.

"Each of these cannons are designed to unleash an unprecedented amount of magical energy. We'll use them to destroy the barrier."

"So what's the catch?" Asks Sans. "Are they not strong enough yet?"

"They're plenty strong. But we can't control them."

Gaster lets the video play. This is the recording for their latest trial run, a few weeks ago. It shows a large rectangular room, walls of magic padding the surfaces. Anton, ears flat and tail bushed out behind him, slowly approaches the cat skull blaster.

Em snickers. "I forgot about that shirt."

Anton flushes—in the video feed, he's wearing a daisy-patterned sweater beneath his lab coat. He crosses his arms.

"Shove it. I've told you, my niece made it for me."

"I think it's lovely," Saul comments. "It brings out the green in your eyes."

"Don't be weird."

They watch the video playback, as Anton stretches out a hand tentatively to pat the beast's muzzle. But he yelps, withdrawing hastily as it snaps at him with its massive jaws. As it lunges towards him again, Gaster steps forward, locking the creature in a cage of magic. They watch it crash against the bars, slowly tiring itself out.

Gaster pauses the video, and turns to address Sans.

"Our current objective is to find a way to establish a sort of tether with the beasts. Master them." Gaster pauses, then adds: "Because your HP is so low, we will not have you interacting with the cannons directly."

Sans gives no outward reaction, but Gaster is sure he's frustrated. Most employers don't check their employees' stats, as a matter of courtesy. The general belief is that a monster would pick a job best suited for their capabilities, regardless. But Gaster is cautious; he's not going to invest time and energy into his assistants only to have one lab experiment gone wrong cause them to crumble into dust.

But Sans shrugs, like it doesn't bother him.

"Hey, you're the boss."

* * *

The following weeks pass by in a flurry of activity as the team works to devise a new method to approach the cannons. Sans, having lived near dog monsters much of his life, suggests they modify their scent to something nonthreatening.

A series of trials and errors have followed, leaving Em, Anton, and Saul in turn reeking and itching for a shower after.

As Sans becomes more comfortable with his peers, he tapers off some on the japes and jokes, and opens up a bit. He starts gushing about his younger brother Papyrus every spare chance he gets, showing the other assistants the numerous photographs stashed in his wallet.

"I don't know what I did to deserve the little nugget." Sans insists every single time, voice saturated with adoration.

It is when they're running yet another scent trial that Gaster first sees him.

They are optimistic about this one. Previous trials left the creatures disinterested, disgusted, or unaffected. None of those the reactions they're looking for.

Today is Saul's turn to be the potential tether. He stands with his arms held out, juddering with excitement.

"Keep still." Anton grumbles, as he hoses Saul down with the latest batch of formula. "Ugh, this shit reeks." Anton has a far keener sense of smell than the rest of them, nearly dog level.

Em slithers over once he's done, taking a whiff. "Smells pretty harmless to me." She says.

The lights inside Sans' eye sockets brighten, and as one the team brace themselves for his appallingly awful humor.

"Yeah, if the beasts don't want to befriend you smelling like that, it makes no _scents_."

Everyone groans good-naturedly.

"We need to come up with a better name for them then "beasts." It's too nondescript." Says Em.

"Hyper Cannons? Mega Gushers?" Suggests Sans. "What about Energy Vomiters?"

Anton's whiskers twitch. "If we're renaming them, we're _not_ leaving it up to Sans."

"I like Mega Gushers." Volunteers Saul.

"Saul doesn't get to be on the voting committee, either."

"Head on in, Saul." Gaster steers them back on track.

The monster snaps off a salute to his boss. "Yessir!"

Gaster has long since given up on trying to correct Saul's zealous, over-polite nature.

Saul goes into the testing room alone, while Gaster and the rest of the team file into the observation room. One of its walls is a sheet of one-way glass that allows them to observe the testing room.

In the center of the testing room is the canine blaster, which hovers restlessly in a cage of Gaster's magic.

The Royal Scientist taps the intercom.

"I'm releasing the cage now." He warns, and does just that.

The team watches their interaction with bated breath.

Rather than sidle up to the beast, as Anton and Em tended to do, Saul simply stands there, letting it be the one to approach him.

The doglike creature circles Saul, clearly smelling his scent. For a moment, the beast seems to enjoy the smell. But then it rears back, jaw hinging open.

Saul narrowly dodges out of the way as the beam of energy completely shatters the magical barriers Gaster had erected, and punches a massive hole in the wall.

"Oh God—"

"Shut it down, Gaster, the cage—"

"We've gotta get him out of there!"

Somehow, it knows they're there. The canine creature summons another beam, and the whole team drops to the floor as its attack shatters the glass wall.

The beast shoves its way through the new opening it created, savage, angry. Gaster throws up the caging magic, but the beast shakes itself free from the bindings easily.

A low growl builds in the creature's throat, eyes glowing and glittering. The team is frozen in the positions they were in when they ducked for cover, staring up at the destructive weapon.

Then, of all things, there's the click of the door opening.

Sans' eyes go to empty pits when he sees a small skeleton standing in the doorway. A child.

"Brother?" He squeaks out. "What is that thing?"

"P-Papyrus? What are you _doing_ here?"

The beast turns towards the boy, the sight of new prey catching its interest.

Sans is right by Gaster's side, but within a second he's suddenly _not_ , he's by the door, arms splayed protectively in front of Papyrus. 1 HP be damned.

Sans' eye socket flickers with blue magic.

"Back off." He growls.

To the team's amazement, the canine beast is cowed by his threat, retreating away from him, even whimpering slightly. Gaster seizes this moment of vulnerability to surround the creature in a cage again, bars so thick it's nearly a box. It doesn't put up a fight this time, resting on the bottom of the cage, still whining softly.

Saul pokes his head through the ruined wall, eyes even wider than usual.

"Is everyone okay?" He shouts.

"We're all fine." Anton lightly pushes him back into the testing room. "Don't get yourself cut on the glass."

The cat monster then grabs the tether to the cage from Gaster.

"I'll take it back." He offers. Anton awkwardly scoots around Sans and his brother to exit.

Now that the momentary chaos has abated, Gaster finally _sees_ Papyrus for the first time. And he actually staggers back a step, struck by the sight of the child. His usually-brilliant mind fuzzes over, and all he can focus on is the boy across the room. Papyrus squirms in Sans' hold, and the guilty flush of magic to his cheekbones sets Gaster's soul ablaze.

"What are you even _doing_ here?" Sans hisses, eyes glittering with protective anger.

"I j-just thought I'd surprise you—"

"Papyrus, I've told you not to come here."

"You never said the lab was dangerous!" Papyrus protests. "You said you were going to be safe at your new job!"

Sans is about to fire back, but then seems to remember the two of them aren't alone in the room. He hefts Papyrus up, even as the grumbling child tries to push away. Sans turns to Em and Gaster, skeletal grin sheepish.

"I'm, uh. Gonna take him home now."

"I can walk home myself!" Says Papyrus, voice muffled as he presses his face into Sans' shoulder.

"Enough, Papyrus." Sans' gaze flicks back up to look at Gaster. "If that's okay with you, doc."

Gaster shakes himself free from his stupor, and waves them off. Afraid that if he tries to speak, nothing will come out.

He's never felt like this before, so strongly. Perhaps it is—

"Dr. Gaster?" Em shoves her large head in his face. "Gaster?"

"What?" His voice comes out gravelly, snappish.

Fortunately, she misunderstands his peevishness.

"Don't worry, sir. We'll figure out these beasts yet. This one seemed to even be obeying Sans, at the end."

Em chatters on, and Gaster grunts in agreement to whatever she says. His mind is still on Papyrus.

With Sans gone and the creature still fidgety, there's little point in pursuing further research. After briefly checking to make sure Saul is truly unscathed (he is) Gaster dismisses the remainder of the team until the following day.

Once Gaster reaches his abode, he makes a beeline for the sofa. He sits, and takes a moment to sort though what has happened.

He does not know why he's like this.

Perhaps he simply wants what society dictates does not belong to him. The pursuit of the unobtainable. Isn't that why he became a scientist, after all? To unlock the secrets of the world that others are too simple-minded to even _search_ for?

Perhaps it is because he lost his betrothed at a young age, when the humans drove them underground. For years after he would lie in the night, imagining her pallid porcelain face on the pillow next to his. Her youthful face became his paragon of beauty.

Gaster shakes his head. He could spend years ruminating on why he feels this way—what's important is that he does. He wants to touch the boy's pristine bones, alabaster unmarred by time and wear. To touch something so pure—to corrupt it by his own hand.

He's growing too excited. He lifts a hand up from the arm of the sofa and strands of him cling to the fabric. He sighs. It's hard to maintain his preferred, more elegant form when he gets riled up. Withdrawing from musings for a moment, he focuses on solidifying himself. The strands reluctantly knit themselves back together.

For years, decades even, Gaster's life has been drudgery. Just going through the motions in the lab as he tried new experiments, only to fail again and again. If he and the king weren't old friends—and if the monster had a sliver of spine—Gaster would've been ousted from his position long ago.

But just the sight of the boy—just the thought of him—makes him feel so _alive_. After all he's done for monsterkind, he deserves this. Papyrus will be his.

* * *

Gaster's soul lurches with joy when Sans enters the lab the next day, five minutes late as opposed to his usual fifteen.

The short skeleton makes a beeline for Gaster.

"Just wanted to, uh. Apologize for yesterday. I've made sure Paps won't show up like that again."

"Why did he come yesterday?" Gaster asks, curious.

Sans lets out a weak chuckle. "He'd gotten a good grade on his science project and couldn't wait a couple hours to show me."

It must have meant a lot, for the boy to directly disobey Sans like that.

"Does Papyrus struggle in school?"

The idea of the object of his affections being of average or lower intelligence bothers him on some level. But Sans is quick to defend his younger brother.

"Paps is a whole lot smarter than me. I should some you some of his puzzles someday—they're brilliant. Some things just don't click, with the way they're teaching him." Sans shuffles a bit. "I help him with the science when I can, but I don't exactly remember every little thing about every subject, you know?"

There's an opportunity here. Gaster tamps down on his enthusiasm, not letting his voice raise in pitch.

"What else does he have difficulty with?"

"Monster languages." Sans says, with an edge of bitterness. "It breaks his little heart, too. He wants to befriend everyone, but has a hard time understanding them."

All monsters are raised to speak the "common" language, but each species has their own language as well. The most common species' languages are taught in the public schools.

"I believe I could be of service." Gaster says, offer honeyed and smooth.

"What?" Sans blinks up at him, uncomprehending.

"I grew up in a very isolated village."

As proud as he is of his heritage, there's also a shade of embarrassment—the moldsmal family are their far less-evolved cousins.

He continues. "When the move underground occurred, I had to quickly adapt to communicating with other monsters. I could teach Papyrus using the techniques that helped me."

"Aw, doc, you don't have to do that—"

"It's no trouble at all." Gaster interrupts him. "Truly. I'd love to help."

But Sans still dithers. "I don't think we can really afford—"

" _Sans_." Gaster admonishes him. "I'm the king's Royal Scientist. Do you think I want for gold?" He smiles down at his assistant. "I just want to help."

Finally, the skeleton shrugs. "Well…why not? Paps'll be over the moon."

"Excellent."

Gaster scrawls his home address on a piece of scrap paper, excitement making his hand shake, marring his usually-perfect penmanship. Still, it's legible. Gaster hands it to Sans.

"I believe two meetings a week shall suffice." He wanted to say three, but he doesn't want his greed to put off Sans.

Sans tucks the address in his jacket pocket. Normally, Gaster would be worried he'd misplace it, but Sans seems to take things concerning his younger brother a little more seriously.

Sans is about to leave, but then pauses.

"Thanks for this, doc." He says quietly.

Gaster waves away his gratitude. He's the one who's truly grateful—Sans has provided him with an opportunity to meet with Papyrus the day after their first meeting.

"It's my pleasure."

* * *

When King Asgore decided to move his homestead from Home to New Home, most monsters picked up and moved with him.

As the king led them through the Underground, a few monsters split off from the herd, finding specific climates especially appealing.

Gaster would have preferred to do his work in the peace and quiet of a place like Snowdin, but the creation and maintenance of the Core required the main lab to be built in Hotland. Leery of the overcrowding in New Home as well as the insufferable heat of Hotland, Gaster moved into a house on the border of both. A bit warm, but at least he can avoid huge throngs of monsters.

Sans and Papyrus live closer to the center of the city, where the crowds are larger but the rent is cheaper. Gaster walks aimlessly back and forth around his house, jittery with anticipation for their arrival.

When the doorbell finally rings, Gaster takes care not to answer too quickly. When he does, he opens the door wide. Little Papyrus stares up at him with wonder. Sans is behind him, a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Hi Dr. Gaster!" The boy chirps. His voice is high, pleasant; he's a few years yet from puberty.

Gaster eyes his clothes with a touch of distaste. Scuffed sneakers, patched jeans, and an old shirt that had to have belonged to Sans, a faded pun on the front. The shirt is too large, cinched in the back with a plain black hair tie. Something so beautiful should be dressed up, put on display, not obscured by ill-fitting, bulky clothing.

"Hello, Papyrus." Gaster steps to the side of the doorway to allow him to come through.

Sans gives his brother's shoulder a supportive squeeze. "Be good for the doc now, Paps."

"I will!" Papyrus whirls around to give his brother a quick little hug, and then he scurries inside.

Gaster exchanges goodbyes with Sans and shuts the door. He now has Papyrus to himself for two full hours. Surreptitiously, he checks through the blinds on his front window. Sans is indeed gone.

"Wowie! What's all this?" Papyrus' delighted voice echoes throughout the house.

Gaster moves to the kitchen, where Papyrus has discovered the tray of treats Gaster had prepared for him. He's not fond of sweets himself, so he baked variations of the pastries several times to find the perfect combination of ingredients.

"They're for you. Pick whatever you'd like, Papyrus."

The boy hesitates. "Sans says I'm not supposed to have dessert before supper."

"Come now," Gaster cajoles. "It'll be our secret."

Papyrus eyes the pastries hungrily, but shakes his head.

"But Sans said…"

"Papyrus, you're a guest in my home. It'd be rude of you to refuse my hospitality."

"Well…alright then!"

Papyrus selects one of the cupcakes—vanilla, with icing and strawberries atop it. He tears off the wrapping and crams the whole thing in his mouth at once. No finesse. Gaster has seen Sans eat in the same appalling manner during lunch breaks at work.

"Mmm." Papyrus hums delightedly. Gaster's soul climbs into his throat—some of the frosting has smeared on the boy's face.

Before he can stop himself Gaster is reaching out towards him.

"Now look, you've made a mess." Gaster wipes the frosting away with his fingers, reveling in the brief contact with smooth bone.

Papyrus flushes adorably, scrubbing the last bits of frosting from his face.

"Let's get started with your studies." Papyrus is too young and unaware to wonder at the sudden hoarseness of Gaster's voice.

Gaster steers Papyrus to his living room. The walls are lined with elegant, dark cherry bookcases, shelves filled with thick scientific journals. Gaster takes a seat on one half of the leather sofa, and Papyrus hops up beside him.

"What grade are you in?"

"Fifth." He says cheerily, swinging his legs. No older than 10 or 11 then, just as he'd thought.

"You're quite tall for your age."

Papyrus puffs out his chest proudly.

"Sans says I'm _way_ bigger than he was at my age."

"Indeed you are." At the rate the child's growing, he will soon eclipse his older brother's stubby height.

"That's because Sans always eats greasy things." Papyrus bemoans his brother's poor dietary choices. "But _I_ listen to the Vegetoids. _I_ eat my greens."

"That's very good of you, Papyrus." The boy lights up at the minor praise. "Now tell me, which monster languages are you focusing on at the moment?"

"Dogspeak and tem."

Gaster grimaces. He is familiar with both, but while Dogspeak is tolerable, the language of the tummies feels strange and degrading to speak.

"Let's start our lesson with Dogspeak. Show me what you've got so far."

Papyrus screws up his face, concentrating. He yips out his name and a few short sentences. It's not a bad baseline to work with. Gaster gives him corrections and suggestions, and Papyrus adapts swiftly, never making the same mistake twice. Before he knows it, two hours have passed, and Sans is at the door.

"How'd it go? You learn anything, Paps?"

Papyrus bounds over to rejoin Sans, barking in the affirmative.

"Uh-oh. You stuck speaking like that now?"

Papyrus growls teasingly, not ready yet to give up the Dogspeak.

"That's ruff, kiddo."

" _Sans_!" Papyrus swats his brother lightly on the arm.

Surprising Gaster, the boy then returns to his side and gives him a quick hug.

"Thank you, Dr. Gaster!"

He waves the pair away from his house, watches them go. He'll have to move slowly, be patient.

He knows where to start.

* * *

At the end of their second tutoring session, Gaster is prepared. He closes out their session a few minutes ahead of time, before Sans arrives, and gives Papyrus a little present, a reward for doing so well. It's a new shirt, made of expensive, comfortable material that will hug his petite frame rather nicely.

This becomes a trend, Gaster gifting Papyrus another nice article of clothing every time they meet, until ultimately, every time Gaster sees him he's wearing a dapper new outfit.

He also conditions Papyrus to his casual touch—a hand on his back here, a pat on his skull there—until it becomes second nature to him. Papyrus is a tactile youth regardless, so it's hardly difficult.

A little more than a month into their arrangement, Sans comes up to Gaster at work. Gaster has his suspicions why, so he throws off what was probably a prepared speech by being the first to speak.

"Ah, Sans. I've been meaning to ask—how has Papyrus been doing in school? Any improvement?"

Sans blinks, then clears his throat. "Uh, well. He's bringing back better grades now. But, uh. You know that you don't really have to keep…giving him stuff."

"He doesn't like the clothes?"

"Well—" Sans squirms, feeling awkward. "He does, but it's just—"

Gaster is growing annoyed. Why can't Sans just be grateful?

"Sans, I don't mind. I don't have children, nieces or nephews." Anyone that could have born them perished when the humans came. "It's nice to have someone to dote on."

"Hey, Sans!" Anton shouts over to them from across the room. "Give me a hand over here, won't you?"

Sans shuffles off to help, and Gaster knows that the skeleton's apprehensions have been soothed.

With Sans pacified for the moment, things continue to progress smoothly. However, one day he greets the skeleton brothers at his door and can immediately sense something is amiss. After waving his brother farewell, Papyrus' cheerful veneer cracks. They've hardly sat down when the boy starts to sniffle.

"Papyrus, what ever is the matter?"

"N-Nothing." Papyrus scrubs at his eye sockets. "I'm fine."

"You can tell me anything." Gaster urges him.

He pulls the boy closer to him. Papyrus leans against his side instinctively, not even questioning the intimate gesture of comfort.

"It's nothing…"

"I won't tell Sans a thing if you don't want me to. I'm good at keeping secrets between us, remember?"

"It's just…" Papyrus picks at a crease in the couch cushion. "Something happened at—at school today."

When Papyrus falls silent, Gaster prompts him to continue.

"Go on."

"Today, in gym class, we, um. We were playing kickball. It's this human sport—"

"I'm aware of it."

"Oh. The—The teacher, she let us pick teams ourselves. And no one wanted me."

Dead last to be picked for a physical challenge? It seems odd to Gaster, considering the boy's strength, height, and abundance of energy.

"Why do you think you were picked last?"

"They _told_ me why." Tears prick the boy's eye sockets. "Said I was weird. A freak."

"Oh, Papyrus."

Gaster encircles him in his arms, Papyrus' back flush to Gaster's chest. The child is in his lap, and dear God, he can even _smell_ him. Gaster inhales the faint tang of his body and magic.

"Don't let what those children say get to you."

Papyrus shifts, his tailbone digging in sharply _right there_. Gaster sucks in a breath, but the boy hears little over his own hiccupping sobs. As Papyrus quivers atop him, Gaster feels himself begin to swell.

"They are merely insecure in themselves, and are taking that out on you."

The utter inappropriateness of his arousal in this moment only serves to make him harder.

"There is nothing wrong with you. You're wonderful."

Gaster subtly activates his magic, to put further pressure upon his erection. He strokes Papyrus' radius bone in a gesture of comfort, but revels in the texture for his own pleasure.

"Sans loves you."

He hasn't pleasured himself in ages; his body, so long denied, is nearly ready to orgasm.

"And I cherish you."

With a huff of breath he comes. The fabric of his clothes is thick enough Papyrus doesn't feel the wetness of semen that's trickled out. Instead, the small skeleton twists around, giving him a hug.

"Thank you, Dr. Gaster. You're the bestest friend I have." He thinks a bit, then amends: "Well, aside from Sans."

Gaster wants to revel in the moment, but he knows if he doesn't move soon his nice leather couch will be ruined.

"Why don't you do wash up?" Gaster suggests. "We'll forget studying for today. I'll show you a new pastry recipe instead."

Papyrus' eye sockets nearly sparkle with joy. He clambers to the bathroom excitedly. Gaster eyes his tiny form until he disappears from sight.

Then Gaster stands, and starts to clean himself up. He wonders how far he'll be able to take this. He imagines it'll be quite fun.


	2. Caught

"Today, we're going to do something a little different." Gaster explains.

Papyrus swings his legs as he sits on the couch, watching him raptly. "Are we going to bake something again?"

"No, today—today we're going to play a game."

Gaster reaches out, enveloping the child's small femur in his hand. He squeezes it, and Papyrus barely reacts, the behavior normalized by this point.

"It's a game normally played by adults, but I think you're clever enough that we can start it now."

For such a young boy, he has a bit of an ego; the insinuation that he's mature has him puffing up with pride.

"Really? How does it work?"

"Adults only play this game with "special friends". It's a very private thing. You can't tell anyone about it, even Sans."

Papyrus' face twists in consternation.

"You have to promise me, Papyrus. Or else we can't play."

The boy fidgets with indecision before finally sticking out his pinkie finger towards Gaster.

"You have to shake it. It's a pinkie promise. The most unbreakable of promises!" Papyrus explains, off of Gaster's bemused look. Humoring him, Gaster completes the pinkie promise.

"So how do we play?" Asks Papyrus, eagerly.

Gaster elects to show him, rather than explain. He pulls the boy into his lap. His hands tremble with eagerness as he rucks up Papyrus' shirt.

"Dr. Gaster…?" Papyrus trails off, uncertainly.

"Be silent." Gaster commands him. "There's no speaking while we play the game."

Gaster's hands first ghost along Papyrus' ribs, checking their strength. They're tough, not as fragile as he expected. Despite how they look, these are not the bones found in the average monster's skeleton, but something built to withstand the shocks and pressures skin usually does. Under the light, they even seem to glow.

Gaster's touches draw a few breathless laughs from Papyrus. The gentle tickling then turns into a firm stroking and massaging. Gaster feels his way around the boy's ribs and spine. Papyrus' muffled laughter morphs into stifled gasps and moans.

A spatter of liquid drips onto Gaster's hand. Gaster tugs Papyrus' shirt off, the boy obligingly lifting his arms up. Gaster can now see the boy's soul shimmering within the uppermost recesses of his ribcage. It glows a lovely orange, with strands of deep blue interwoven within.

The soul is the most intimate part of any monster. Gaster wants nothing more than to cup Papyrus' soul in his hands, sweep his thumbs over the pulsating mass, watch Papyrus writhe and moan as his essence drips in Gaster's hands.

But…not yet. Soul protection is an emphasized lesson in childhood. Even Papyrus would be bothered by Gaster making that big of a leap today.

So for now, Gaster contents himself with the meager amount he's been given. He laps up the few drops of magic. It's only enough to give him a hint of his taste, something distinctly Papyrus.

Papyrus cranes his neck to look at Gaster questioningly, wondering why he's paused his ministrations. Gaster wordlessly starts to touch him again. And, instead of trailing upwards, to the boy's vibrant soul, Gaster's hands go lower. He undoes the fastenings on Papyrus' pants, pushing them and his boxers down and out of the way.

Papyrus shivers as he's exposed to the cool air, but soon enough Gaster is warming him again with caresses to his pelvic bone.

"Ah…mmm…that's..." Papyrus lets out a few words before quieting himself again. But Gaster has changed his mind on the rules of the game.

He brings one hand up to tug away Papyrus' own from his mouth, letting him moan and mutter freely.

"No words." Gaster says, lips brushing the side of Papyrus' skull. "But I want to hear your voice."

Gaster's hand strokes him firmly, eliciting mewls from the boy. Gaster peppers kisses on his neck, leaving a faint film of his saliva over the vertebra.

Residue from Papyrus' soul seeps through the spaces between his bones, soaking the front of Gaster's shirt. Gaster pauses once more, drinking in the sight in front of him. Papyrus is staring up at him, cheeks flushed, eyes dim, mind lost in sensation. At the brief lapse in contact, Papyrus whines, hips thrusting up slightly. His body knows what it wants, but he's not quite sure what to ask for.

"Please…" He gasps. "Please…"

"So needy." Gaster scolds him, breathlessly. "Fine, I'll give you what you want."

Gaster fondles Papyrus, stroking and touching and rubbing until the boy reaches his peak. With a strangled cry, Papyrus orgasms, liquid magic bursting free from his soul in every direction.

Papyrus leans back against Gaster's chest, panting with the exertion.

"You did very good for your first time, Papyrus." Gaster praises him. "I'm proud of you."

Papyrus beams up at the doctor. "Nyeh…that felt…very good."

"It's supposed to. And we'll do it again and again and again." He promises this to the both of them.

Gaster hooks one arm below Papyrus' legs and encircles his other around his chest. Gaster stands, cradling the boy tenderly in his arms.

"Are we playing another game now?"

Gaster chuckles. "No, Papyrus."

He carries Papyrus to the bathroom. The skeleton watches from his perch on the shut toilet lid as Gaster fills the tub with lukewarm water. Once the water level is to his satisfaction, Gaster places his charge in the tub. He industrially scrubs at the child's bones, making sure to remove every speck of Papyrus' spent magic. He uses a scentless soap, so this additional bath will go unnoticed by the boy's guardian.

Papyrus splashes happily in the bathwater, as he has undoubtedly done a hundred times before as Sans bathed him.

Gaster hasn't yet come himself. His cock is still stiff and swollen within his slacks, every shift of his body a minor agony as it chafes against the constricting fabric. But he just continues to clean Papyrus, paying it no mind. There's a certain pleasure in being on the edge of climax, but not quite tipping over.

Once Papyrus is cleaned up to his satisfaction, Gaster hands him a fluffy white towel. As Papyrus methodically dries himself off, Gaster retrieves the boy's discarded clothes. Before he takes them back to the child, Gaster brings them to his nose, taking delight in Papyrus' scent.

He helps Papyrus dress and then steers him into the kitchen. He pushes a pastry into Papyrus' hand, and leaves him to munch on the snack while he makes his final preparations for Sans' arrival. The food will boost up Papyrus' magical energy again.

Gaster moves to his bedroom and undresses swiftly. He'd made sure today to wear an outfit he had a double of in case of any mess.

His dick is still hard. He gives it a few squeezes before shoving on the second pair of pants. He wrinkles his nicely-ironed shirt, to look as if he had been wearing it all day.

With his and Papyrus' personal appearances taken care of, all that's left is the living room. Gaster cleans it efficiently, only the slight scent of citrus left to linger.

Afterwards, he collects Papyrus again, and the two discuss the nuances of his language class until Sans arrives. As he waves the duo farewell for the day, a wave of smugness overtakes him. If Sans knew what was going on he would set upon Gaster like a wild beast until he put him down. But Sans is utterly oblivious to the things that have and will happen inside Gaster's home. Sans loves to pull pranks, but one of the most severe deceptions of all is passing right by him.

Gaster returns to his bedroom once they are gone. He roots through a closet filled with fitted turtleneck sweaters and pristine white labcoats, and pulls out a garment carefully wrapped in layers of plastic. Gaster pulls it free of its coverings. It was one of the few possessions he had been able to save from the surface—his beloved's dress. An elegant blue silk, trimmed with lavender lace. Gaster lays it out over the duvet. He kneels down beside the bed, one hand stroking the fabric of the dress while the other cups the clothed erection between his legs. He no longer envisions his long-dead betrothed above him, but instead Papyrus, sweet Papyrus. The boy's moans and whimpers from earlier are repeated back in his mind. He wishes he'd filmed their coupling. He'll have to make a note of picking up the necessary equipment soon.

The image of Papyrus wearing his beloved's dress, flushing beautifully as Gaster lifts it up to fondle his pubic arch, his orange soul dripping with need and want for _him_ —

Gaster buckles against the side of the bed as he comes.

The rush of heady pleasure fades, leaving a hollow void in its wake. He plucks at the fabric of his soiled pants distastefully. Self disgust rips through him, as it often does after an orgasm. He's a monster of logic and reason, but his carnal cravings all too often steer him towards his baser urges. With a sigh, he moves to clean himself up.

* * *

"Absolutely not." Says Em, full of maternal disapproval. "It's far too dangerous."

"Look. Clearly, it worked before. Nothing else has worked yet." Sans' gaze slides from Em to Gaster, quietly requesting the Royal Scientist's override. "One chance, that's all I'm asking."

Saul wrings his hands, hating to see his friends at odds.

Em now turns to Gaster too, beseechingly. "Sir, you must agree with me on this."

All of them, even Anton, who was until now pretending not to be listening in on the conversation, look to Gaster expectantly.

"Sans is an adult, capable of making his own decisions." Em's mouth drops open, about to utter further protest. "But, as I said when Sans first joined us; it is senseless to risk his life when there are other avenues still open to us." Ignoring Sans' scowl, Gaster addresses the whole team. "I believe our next step is simply a different approach. We have attempted thus far to be nonthreatening to the beasts, to strike up a kinship. Perhaps we need to use intimidation, as Sans did when shielding his brother."

"Are we going to _hurt_ them?" Asks Saul.

"They aren't real animals. It doesn't matter." Anton says, a bit patronizingly.

"We will intimidate, not harm." Gaster allays Saul's worries. No physical damage will come to the cannons, at least not for the moment. If the new plan fails, then, of course, everything is once again on the table.

"Shall we start with the canine skull first, then?"

Gaster gives Em's question a nod of approval. She glances at Sans. The skeleton has been uncharacteristically silent since his request was denied, and now fiddles absently with a pen, repeatedly taking it apart and screwing it back together again.

"…I'll go prepare the cannon for testing."

With one last concerned glance at Sans—who doesn't notice, focused as he is on the pen—she slithers from the room.

Catching the shift in mood, Anton inclines his head towards the door. "I'll go make sure the new testing room is up to spec." He throws an arm around Saul, hauling the other monster with him. "Saul'll help."

"Oh, o-okay…" Saul agrees, not quite understanding, but going along with Anton anyway.

The door closes behind them, and now Sans and Gaster have been left alone in the room.

"Sans—"

"Don't start." Sans rounds on Gaster angrily. "Just…don't."

"Alright." Gaster says, simply.

Sans is unable to stand the expectant silence.

"I can _do_ it, doc. You don't think I've found my own ways around my HP problem? I don't need to be coddled, I—I don't want _favors_ , or special treatment, or anything like that from you."

"I'm not trying to be a father figure to you. Admittedly, I do see Papyrus now slightly in that light. But it's hard not to feel such a way about someone like Papyrus." Gaster placates Sans with half-truths. "However, I assure you, I have kept the relationship between you and I strictly professional in my mind. We are coworkers, practically equals. And as I've said, in that context, it'd be a gamble to throw you in a room with one of those beasts."

"And what if they don't listen to anyone else?" Sans challenges. "What then?"

"Then I will reconsider you as a tether candidate."

Sans is surprised Gaster would promise him this, even in private. Gaster smiles.

"Did you think I would deny you the opportunity out of some moral principle? This is so much bigger than any of us. The work we do here is meant to benefit all monsterkind."

Gaster considers giving Sans a pat on the shoulder, but assumes the skeleton would misconstrue it as a fatherly gesture. While a small part of him is intrigued by the possibilities presented by molding Sans into a dutiful son, he dismisses the urge. Between his work and Papyrus, he already has enough to occupy his time. So Gaster strides right on past him, to the door.

"Now come. I'm sure the others are anxious to start."

They enter the observation room adjacent to the testing room. Hopefully, the beasts won't lash out again; they only have so many spare testing rooms.

The rest of Gaster's assistants are already waiting for them inside, and are visibly relieved to see Gaster and Sans enter together, clearly no longer at odds. The canine cannon skull sits in the center of the testing room, rattling its teeth with a restless energy.

"Anton, I want you to go in today." Of the three of them, the cat monster makes the most sense. Saul is softhearted, and Em cannot gesture in a dominating manner when she has no limbs to do so.

"Got it, boss."

Anton strides across the room."

"Shoelaces!" Em snaps.

They all look down. Sure enough, the ratty shoelace on one of Anton's sneakers is undone.

"Whoops." He says, devoid of any real care.

Em uses her magic to tie the lace in a firm knot.

"Honestly!"

Anton grins. "Thanks, Em. You're a peach."

The group watches as Anton leaves the observation room and enters the testing room. The beast notices him at once, growling lowly. It has not kept hold of the meek temperament it demonstrated towards Sans.

Anton turns as aggressive as possible. Physically, he straightens from his slouching posture. His fur bristles threateningly, his sharp teeth gleaming and visible. He does not summon forth his magic, but he does exert his magical presence. Even from the room over, they all can feel that there's a significant increase in the weight of the air.

"Come here." Anton growls. He extends his hand.

The cannon is confused by the increase of magical pressure in the room. It drifts towards Anton—curious, cautious, but clearly not cowed.

"I think it's working!" Saul is hopeful, but no one else in the observation room is as optimistic yet. If Em had fingers, she'd be chewing at her nails right now.

The beast comes closer, closer, to Anton's outstretched hand.

"That's right, come on. Get your ass over here."

The beast nuzzles against Anton's palm, getting a whiff of his scent. Everyone relaxes a fraction as it seems to be accepting him.

And then the beast's jaws hinge open wide. Anton hastily retracts his hand, right as its jaws snap shut around the empty air.

"Fucker!" Anton yowls.

Gaster summons a cage around the beast, locking it inside. It bashes itself against the bars, straining to get to Anton. The cat monster flees the room before it starts throwing energy beams again.

Ruffled and disappointed, Anton rejoins the group.

"I think you almost had him." Saul tries to be supportive.

"He almost had _me_ for lunch." Anton fumbles out a cigarette from his pack and lights it. Gaster charitably allows this, considering the monster nearly lost his arm.

Sans eyes Gaster, but the latter won't acknowledge his I-told-you-so look.

"Em," He says, instead. "You're next."

* * *

Gaster is pleased when Papyrus shows up for their next meeting with his brother as per usual. In front of Sans, the child acts naturally, displaying not a hint of unease at being left in Gaster's care again. To the boy, their "play" session had been a fun experience, something shared between two close friends, and nothing more.

When they reach the living room, Papyrus digs around in his backpack and pulls out a worn notebook and a stubby pencil. He offers them to Gaster, who only sets them aside on the table. When Gaster grasps at the hem of Papyrus' shirt, though, the boy tries to push him away.

"Papyrus?" There's the hint of a threat in his tone.

"I—there's a test coming up soon. I could really use your help—"

"I've taught you all you need to know." Gaster says, irritable. When it really comes down to it, all it takes is rote memorization to learn a language. "Just study using the methods I've taught you and you'll do fine."

"But—"

" _Papyrus_." He growls, killing the boy's protest. "You don't want me to get mad now, do you?"

"N-No."

"Then don't disappoint me," Gaster says, leaning closer. "And don't speak."

* * *

The following week, Papyrus shamefacedly shows him his monster language test. A failing score is written in blazing red pen across the front page.

Gaster plucks the test from his grasp. Crammed into the corner of the page is a request for a parental signature, an awaiting line underneath it.

"Sans hasn't seen this yet, has he?"

"No. I thought—do you want to talk to him?"

Papyrus squirms on the couch beside him, bracing himself for Gaster's scorn and punishment. But he's baffled when instead Gaster plants a kiss on the crown of his skull.

"Dr. Gaster?"

"You have done well to bring this to me first, Papyrus."

Gaster locates a pen, and signs Sans' name as he remembers it from his hiring paperwork.

"Wowie!" Exclaims Papyrus. "That looks just like Sans'. How'd you do that?"

"If your teacher ever asks for something to be signed, you just bring it to me, alright?"

Papyrus is conflicted. "But, that's lying…"

"It's a secret, Papyrus. We keep secrets between us to protect others, alright? You don't want to see Sans angry or sad because of something you did, do you? He works hard enough without you adding to his troubles, doesn't he?"

Gaster gives the test paper a shake for emphasis. When Papyrus doesn't respond right away, Gaster grabs his chin and forces his head up to meet his gaze.

"Doesn't he?"

"...He does."

"Just do as I say, Papyrus, and everything will be fine."

* * *

Papyrus is late.

Gaster paces back and forth in his foyer anxiously, stealing repeated glances through the front windows. It's almost half an hour past their appointed meeting time and Papyrus is not here.

The weather is fair, and Sans mentioned nothing at the end of his shift.

Did Papyrus say something to Sans?

How much did he say—did he just admit to Gaster forging Sans' signature, or to all of it?

What's the best response? In all honesty, he'd never suspected he'd get caught. He'd erased any possible evidence, had groomed Papyrus to be obedient and passive.

But it is now fifty minutes past the appointed meeting time, and Papyrus is _not here_.

Gaster scrolls once more through his phone and email—still nothing from Sans.

Possibilities run through his mind. He can stay put, deny all of Sans' accusations against him. There's no solid evidence, just the word of a child against that of the Royal Scientist. Asgore would vouch for him—the king thinks he knows who Gaster really is.

But Asgore has always had a soft spot for children, now especially so after the loss of his own. Asgore might not be as much of an ally to him as he once was.

If he absolutely had to, he could always…dust Sans. It would be a waste of a brilliant mind, a true waste. But another application would reach his desk. And Sans would not be the first to die by his hand.

The sudden blare of his phone startles him badly. Gaster takes the call.

"Doc!" It's Sans on the other line. He sounds far from murderous or vengeful; instead, rather apologetic. "I'm sorry I didn't call earlier. I kind of, uh, forgot."

For someone so smart, Sans can be surprisingly dull at times. Gaster pinches the bridge of his nose. "I assume there is a reason neither you nor Papyrus showed?"

"Yeah. Paps caught a bit of a bug in school today."

"Is he alright?"

"He'll be fine," Sans assures him. "He just needs to rest up for a few days. I meant to call earlier, sorry."

"Try not to forget next time. You gave me quite a fright." In more ways than Sans could realize.

"Right." Sans' tone is not as sheepish as it should be. "Sorry again, doc. See you tomorrow."

Sans hangs up. Gaster exhales deeply. Papyrus is merely ill. He had no real cause for alarm. He wills his soul to stop racing so fast.

* * *

Over a week passes without contact from Papyrus. When Sans finally drops the boy off at his doorstep, Gaster barely waits for him to leave before he sets upon Papyrus.

They don't even make it out of the foyer. Gaster yanks away the boy's backpack, tossing it out of the way.

"Hey—!" Papyrus' protest is stifled as Gaster kneels down to kiss him, forcing his tongue past unwilling teeth.

When Gaster finally pulls apart for air, Papyrus is panting, face flushed.

"D-Dr. Gaster, wait—" Papyrus paws uselessly at his roving hands.

"Stop fighting me." Gaster slips the child's pants down even as he thrashes. He tightens his grip until it's bruising. He can always heal it later.

Gaster has had a difficult week. Work has been frustrating and fruitless, every attempt to tame the beasts futile. Compounding that was his total lack of contact with Papyrus. He needs this.

"This makes you feel good, doesn't it?" Gaster drags a moan out of him with a press of his knee to Papyrus' pelvis. "So what's the problem?"

"I…" Papyrus trails off, starting to sniffle.

"Don't cry, my pet, don't cry." Gaster swipes up the tears with his thumbs, then sucks up their lingering taste with his tongue. "I'm doing this for you, don't you see that?"

Gaster happens to glance up from Papyrus—and his soul stutters to a stop.

Watching him through the front window is Anton. A stack of papers slip from his grasp as he stares, astonished, at the sight of Gaster and Papyrus.

And then he starts running.

Gaster seizes Papyrus and sets him down on the living room couch.

"Stay here."

"Who is that monster? Are we in trouble?"

"Stay _here_. If you so much as leave this couch you will regret it."

Papyrus nods submissively, and Gaster storms from the room. He leaves the house at a dead sprint; in the brief seconds it took to move Papyrus, his assistant cannot have gone far.

He spies Anton a bit further down the path. He sees a flash of light—Anton's cell phone.

Gaster sends a magic construct hurtling towards Anton with precise aim—it grazes his hand, forcing him to reflexively drop the phone. Anton hesitates between picking up the phone and continuing on just long enough. Gaster summons a massive hand of ice, his preferred element. It slams down on Anton, pinning him to the ground. As the cat monster struggles to get free, Gaster catches up.

Anton picks his head up as much as he's able. His ears are pinned flat against his head, fangs bared.

"You're a sick fucking freak." He spits. "I can't believe you. How can you do that to a _child_ , to Sans' _brother_?"

"I don't have to explain myself to anyone, least of all someone who's about to die."

Gaster summons a spear of ice to his hand, and raises it for the killing blow.

Then something wraps around his ankle and jerks his feet out from under him. His head smacks painfully against the ground. Gaster pushes himself up and spots the cause of his fall—magic like spun pink yarn is tangled around his leg. Gaster uses the spear of ice to cut himself free from the strands of magic.

Anton lashes another strand of yarn to a nearby tree. He hauls himself out of the hand of ice, standing once more. His tail lashes angrily behind him.

With a wordless cry Anton summons forth his magic. Yarn winds all around Gaster's body, pinning him in place. A few thick cords lash around Gaster's neck, squeezing the oxygen from his body.

It's such a weak magic, capable of so little. Anton might've found creative avenues of attack with his power if the monster wasn't so lazy with his training. Sloth will be his undoing.

Gaster does not require hand gestures to formulate magic, as novice magic users do. Jagged, enormous icicles fall from the sky, pelting the area around Anton. The cat monster dodges the attacks for the most part, but one manages to slice the back of his shoulder.

Anton hisses, pressing his opposite hand to the wound. He turns to run, to escape Gaster's range, but Gaster is far older and more capable than him. A thick wall of ice materializes, blocking Anton's way. As he whirls back to face his opponent, Gaster sends an icicle sprouting from the ground to pierce Anton's chest, his soul.

To Anton's credit, he does not plead for mercy or cower in fear in his final moments. He keeps up his venomous glower.

"They'll catch you soon enough, you bastard." Anton's voice fluctuates in pitch and power as the dusting process begins. "I can't…wait…to see you…suffer."

Anton dissolves into dust. The magic constraining Gaster disappears. He takes a moment to recover, gasping much-needed oxygen back into his lungs.

He staggers over to Anton's dust pile. It's too much dust to carry in his hands alone.

Gaster hurries back to his house. In his earlier haste, the front door was left ajar. Gaster steps inside, checks the nearby clock on the wall—he has a little more than an hour before Sans arrives again to collect his brother. Gaster could call him, explain that they need an extra hour to go over concepts—but no. He doesn't want to do anything out of the ordinary. The guard will eventually search for the murderer. He needs to arouse as little suspicion as possible. Thus, he'll have to make due with the little time he's allotted.

He checks on Papyrus from afar. The boy has pulled his pants back up to his waist, but is otherwise exactly how Gaster left him. Satisfied, he strides to the broom closet, selecting a dust pan and broom from the arrangement of cleaning supplies. Monster dust, when discovered by another monster, is traditionally collected by a relative in a special pan. Anton's dust will have to make due with the same pan he uses to brush up dirt from his front porch.

Gaster returns outside to Anton's remains. He sweeps up all the dust he can in the pan, and scuffs the ground to disturb any remaining grains. Thankfully, all of Gaster's magic shatters upon contact with the earth; otherwise, there would be gaping holes in the ground where the icicles crashed down, which would be rather difficult to explain away.

Gaster walks to the nearby river, careful not to spill any dust from the pan. When he reaches the riverbed, there's not another monster in sight, this far from New Home. Gaster dumps Anton's remains in to the river, and watches the particles mix with the water and go rushing away.

He doesn't watch too long, though. There's more to be done. Gaster returns to where they had fought, and searches until he finds Anton's cell phone. Sans' contact information is pulled up—he was probably about call him before Gaster interfered.

Gaster returns to the front of his house, and snatches up every piece of paper he can find. Some of the pages have probably scattered in the wind. For now, there's nothing he can do about that.

Gaster places the collected papers and cell phone in his basement. He'll dispose of them later. He has just enough time remaining to deal with Papyrus.

The boy glances up as he strides into the room, but says nothing yet.

"I need you to listen to me very carefully." Gaster says, lowly. "There were no other monsters here today besides the two of us. I was with you the entire time. Understand?"

"But—the other monster—where did he—?"

Gaster grabs Papyrus by the shoulders and gives him a firm shake. Papyrus flinches at the wild look in his eyes.

"There was no other monster." Gaster reiterates. "Just, you, and me, in here, studying. Is that clear?"

As Sans said, Papyrus is not stupid. The gears turn in his head, and the lights in his eye sockets quiver with horror as he realizes why Gaster would need an alibi.

"No. You didn't—you didn't _hurt_ him—"

"If you tell anyone—the guard, your brother, _anyone_ —there will be consequences. I will take Sans from you."

"S-Sans is the strongest m-monster ever! He'd beat you!"

Just then, the doorbell rings. Speak of the devil.

Gaster tightens his grip on Papyrus.

"Are you willing to take that chance? To gamble with your brother's life? He's a 1 HP monster, after all. One hit and he'd be dust, and it'd be _all your fault_."

Papyrus' breath hitches. The doorbell rings again.

Gaster stands.

"Now. Make yourself presentable."

Papyrus miserably smoothens out his clothes and collects his backpack as Gaster opens the door for Sans.

"Yo."

"I apologize for the wait. We were just finishing up a rather long lesson. Weren't we, Papyrus?"

The boy says nothing, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Gaster nudges him, perhaps a bit too harshly.

" _Papyrus_."

The boy snaps to.

"Yes! It was tough at first but I think I've got it now." His voice is so bright, not wavering on a single syllable. Threatening his brother seems to be a proper motivator.

Papyrus crosses to Sans' side, latching onto his brother's hand. Sans, more than used to his brother's tactile nature, thinks nothing of it.

For once, Gaster is relieved to see Papyrus go. After he shuts the door behind the skeleton brothers, Gaster selects a savory scotch from his liquor cabinet and settles down to drink.

He tips the glass back, swirls the amber liquid in his mouth. He can do this. He just needs to be very, very careful in these coming weeks. Gyftmas is coming up in a little over a month. The guard will want to wrap up Anton's death as an open-and-shut case so they can stay home with their families for the holidays. He just needs to act naturally, be smart, and this will all blow over.

Gaster drains his glass quickly. There's more work to be done.


	3. Interrogation

The following day, Anton does not show up for work. Gaster watches silently as his remaining assistants talk amongst themselves, faces pinched with concern.

"He would have called if he wasn't feeling well." Saul says, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

"Anton stayed late last night. I asked if he wanted to walk out with me, but he said he wanted to finish a few things up first." Em's voice lifts in hope. "Perhaps he stayed up too late last night and slept through his alarm?"

"I'll call him," Sans says decisively, punching in the cat monster's number to his phone. The call cuts straight to voicemail; Sans, dismayed, snaps his cell phone shut to the robotic tones of the answering machine. The three of them turn to Gaster, silently asking what they should do next.

"We'll mark today as a fluke." Gaster makes the call. "If he does not show tomorrow, someone will be sent to his house to investigate."

"Oh dead, oh dear, I do hope he's alright." Saul hugs himself, a self-comforting gesture.

Gaster turns to leave the room.

"Come now. There's still work to be done, with or without Anton."

"Guess the barrier won't shatter itself, huh?"

Sans falls into step beside Gaster, though he has to take two steps for every single stride of Gaster's long legs.

"So what are we doing today?"

Gaster glances down at his youngest assistant.

"You're going in today."

Sans stops short. Saul and Em, who were bringing up the rear, nearly bump into him.

"What?" Sans wants a confirmation, not willing to grow excited until he knows without a doubt that Gaster is promising him what he most wants.

"You heard me. It's your turn with the constructs today."

"Dr. Gaster!" Em gasps. "Please, reconsider."

But Gaster shakes his head.

"The king himself called me in for a meeting last week. To say he was disappointed at our lack of progress would be an understatement."

And oh, how it riles Gaster to be subject to King Asgore's whims. The king, a monster who constantly tries to instruct Gaster on the methods and timeframes by which experiments should be completed, though he himself has no knowledge of or appreciation for the intricacies of science.

"He wants results within the next few months, or he'll seriously consider pulling the plug on Project BOMB."

Even Sans doesn't crack a joke about how "Project BOMB" has "bombed". All of them have invested too much in trying to make this work to find failure humorous.

"We are left with little choice but our last option. Prepare yourself, Sans. This is your chance."

Sans says little as they navigate the halls of the lab, and Gaster does not speak either, leaving Sans to his mental preparations. They reach the storage room, where various cannons float in suspension. Sans looks around the room until he locates the same canine skull from that fateful afternoon.

Saul scuttles over to the computer, pressing a few keys to drain the fluid in the tube. The beast recovers from its stasis slowly enough that Gaster is able to cage it easily. His assistants follow as he tugs along the construct from its cell to the testing chamber.

Gaster sets the cage down in the room, but does not dispel the magic just yet. Sans' hands are clenched in trembling fists, sweat beading on the sides of his skull.

"Are you ready, Sans?"

The small skeleton manages a jerky nod.

Em flashes a pleading look at Gaster, tail flicking with agitation.

"Let one of us stay in the room with him, at least."

But Gaster denies her.

"We can't. It would disturb the results, as you very well know. Now come."

Saul gives Sans' shoulder a squeeze, Em gives him a reassuring nod, and they move with Gaster to the observation room. Gaster allows Sans a moment more to gather himself before he releases the cage.

Em and Saul all but have their faces pressed to the glass, watching raptly and ready to intervene on Sans' behalf at a moment's notice.

The massive canine skull flickers to life, its glowing eyelights pinning Sans down.

Sans straightens up, for what that extra two inches is worth.

"Come over here." Sans instructs, unable to keep the slight quiver from his voice. He wanted this, but it's one thing to desire something in the abstract, and another to actually have it.

The cannon growls lowly, but does start to drift slowly towards Sans.

"That's it, buddy, just like that. Nice and easy now…" Sans does not extend his hand out, as Anton had, not keen on the prospect of having to snatch it away from the beast's jaws.

Sans stands his ground, and the beast's growls morph into low warbling as it gets closer. Once it's but a few feet away from Sans, it glides gently to the floor. Jaws shut, pliant. A demonstration of obedience.

Even now, Sans doesn't dare take his eyes from the beast to glance in their direction.

"Seems like the big lug remembers me. Any, uh, suggestions on what to do next?"

Gaster presses the intercom speaker, hardly believing what he's seeing. To think, they've been stonewalled all these months, and because of what? Because the construct had already selected its master?

"See if it will obey you."

Sans stares at the construct, unsure.

"Um. Roll over?"

The beast grumbles, but obeys, flopping itself upside down.

"Go over to the corner of the room." Sans points. It ambles over. "Come back." It does.

Em summons targets on the far end of the room, away from Sans and the observation window.

"Tell it to shoot the targets!" She says, Saul helpfully pressing the intercom button for her.

Sans rocks back on the balls of his feet, gesturing for the beast to take it away.

"Go for it. Fire away."

But the beast, for once, does not listen.

"Hey, buddy. C'mon. Do a guy a favor and shoot the targets, won't you?"

But the beast's jaws remain clamped shut, no magic building inside it.

"Frighten it," Says Gaster. "Attack it until it's forced to retaliate."

Leashing the construct serves no purpose if it refuses to do what it was designed for.

"I'll do it, but, fair warning. There's not much to my magic."

Sans sends several bone attacks careening towards the construct. Those it doesn't dodge it snaps apart in its teeth. Sans launches a second wave, the pattern more intricate than the first. A few manage to brush against the beast, but they do damage so negligible they may as well have not hit. The construct rumbles happily, as if this is some game.

"Saul, go in."

Gaster's assistant snaps off his customary salute before entering the room with Sans. Saul gives the beast a lame little wave, tense and ready to call forth his own magic. The construct eyes him, but then flicks its gaze away, disinterested. A far cry from the raging beast that had once wrecked two rooms in the lab.

Saul separates himself from Sans and hurls his magic at the construct, trying to goad it into battle. Although Saul's magic does a bit more damage than Sans', it's like a raindrop trying to erode a mountain. Gaster had built the constructs as the ultimate forces of war: they all house immeasurable attacking power and defense. A monster's attacks won't have any real effect; they were built to withstand the might of a human if need be. Gaster had hoped their magic would be enough to irritate it into firing, but that does not seem to be the case.

Gaster turns to Em. "Help them switch out the construct. Let's see how far the others are willing to listen."

* * *

Failure.

Trials on every functioning construct are performed, but though most of them have latched on to Sans, none of them will launch attacks when it's requested of them. Gaster runs his assistants ragged, into the early hours of the morning (Sans is forced to step out momentarily to call a babysitter) before finally admitting defeat. Gaster sends them all home, generously giving them a few extra hours to sleep before being called back in.

Gaster himself doesn't leave, remaining behind in the lab to burn through the hours in between with his own research. His exhausted brain is unable to dredge up anything useful—the only correlation he can find between Sans and the constructs is their physical bodies. Gaster had designed the beasts to resemble skeletons for a handful of reasons; it was simpler to assemble, more intimidating than a simple cannon. Perhaps they incorrectly perceived Sans as one of their own. Then, there's the issue of their free will. They were carved out of the magic of several monsters for one sole purpose: destruction. And yet, when bidden, they refuse.

Gaster pulls older files, from back when the beasts were first given form. It had been a big ordeal, a large hullabaloo; guards, scientists, civilians, even the king himself, all donated to a large well of magic for the royal science team to pull from. For the first time in a very long time, monsters walked the streets with hope in their eyes. Together, united, they would overcome the humans' curse.

If Gaster could just figure out how to get the damned things to _listen_.

"I see you got far." Comes a wry voice from the doorway.

It's Sans, in the same rumpled clothes from yesterday. With one hand he smothers a yawn, the other clutching a paper bag. The scent of fresh donuts wafts through the room.

"You're here early." It's still an hour before the delayed call time. If anything, he expected Sans to arrive even later.

Sans shrugs. "Had to walk Pap to school anyway."

He shuffles across the room, offering the bag to Gaster. Despite his usual aversion to sweets, Gaster can't remember the last time he's eaten, so he picks a donut out of the bag, one that looks to have the least amount of sugar.

Sans picks up one of the sheets of paper scattered about, chewing obnoxiously on his own donut.

"Monster records? What are these for?"

"It's—"

"Oh, fuck." Suddenly, Sans is much more awake. "I almost forgot. Has Anton shown up yet? He wouldn't have known about the shifted schedule."

Gaster blinks, really selling the surprised expression on his face. "…I haven't seen him. I was rather distracted with all this."

"I'm going to check around. See if anyone's seen him."

Sans jogs out of the room, worry hurrying his pace.

Gaster sighs, and gathers the papers into some semblance of order. He'll have to go through all of this at a later date. He has everything neatly sorted when Sans reenters, slightly out of breath.

"I can't find him anywhere, and he still won't pick up when I call."

Gaster stands. "Perhaps a personal visit is in order."

He looks up Anton's home address, and the pair make their way to the cat monster's apartment in New Home. Sans shoots off messages to Em and Saul to inform them of what's going on.

Their walk to the apartment is punctuated by the occasional nervous chatter from Sans. No doubt the young monster's imagination is conjuring up all sorts of possibilities for Anton's abrupt disappearance. Gaster regrets that he did not snatch a few hours of sleep when he had the chance—the guard proceedings would be difficult and taxing enough even if he didn't have something to hide.

They ultimately reach the apartment. It's one of the sorts with a buzzer for each apartment. Sans jams on the button for 7F for a whole minute; nothing. They're let into the stairwell by a kindly monster on their way out, and they laboriously climb all the way up to the seventh floor.

Panting for breath, Sans beats on the door to Anton's apartment. When there's no response, he fishes out a hairpin from his shoe and starts to pick the lock.

"You know how to pick locks?" Gaster asks, knowing what the ability implies.

Sans gives away nothing, winking at him. "Just one of my many talents."

With a definitive click the door unlocks, and Sans pushes it open. Gaster upturns his nose at the rank stench of the place; takeout boxes with half-rotten food in them lay strewn about the place. Disgusted, Gaster opens the nearby window, letting the smell be filtered out by the open air.

Sans and Gaster search the entire apartment, but Anton is absent. Sans then rummages in the kitchen drawers until he finds an address book. Locating Anton's sister, he dials her number and waits for the call to connect.

Gaster, in the meanwhile, circles back around to Anton's desk. He appears to have brought his work home with him, his own theories on the constructs scrawled across the pages of a notebook. Gaster flicks through the pages, but cannot glean anything from them that he does not already know.

"Ivana? This is Sans. I'm, uh, a friend of Anton's. From work."

Chatter on the other end of the line.

"That's the thing—he didn't come into work today or yesterday. We were kind of hopin' he might be with you."

Another pause, Sans' face darkening by the second.

"I—I see. No, we'll do it. Take care of yourself."

Sans looks to Gaster.

"He's gone. Ivana doesn't know where he is, and neither do we."

Sans is shaken up by this. Gaster calls the royal guard himself to report the incident.

* * *

Not ready to get a slap on the wrist for breaking and entering, Gaster and Sans leave Anton's apartment and return to the lab. Sans fills Em and Saul in on what they found. The mood is heavy, and although Gaster is itching to get back to work on the construct problem, he has to give up on getting any work done today. His assistants huddle together, murmuring assurances to each other until _she_ enters the room. They all instinctively straighten—she has that kind of commanding presence that demands discipline.

Flaming red hair, hard yellow eyes, pointed teeth that jut free from her mouth, tattered facial fins, polished black armor—this is Mira, captain of the royal guard. She had been a child when they were sealed underground. But training and hard work lead her to climb the ranks swiftly. Gaster has made a concerted effort to avoid her at every one of the king's parties that they've both been invited to. Her over-inflated sense of right and wrong does not mesh well with the sacrifices demanded for the advancement of real science.

"You're the science team Anton Belikov was working with?" She wastes no time with pleasantries.

"That's right." Em confirms.

Mira joins them at the table, sitting down heavily. Another guard shuffles into the room, holding a small spiral notebook and pen dexterously in his large claws. He's a dragon monster, with orange scales like unfurled flowers across his body.

"Name's Mira, and that there is my second-in-command, Snapdragon."

"Isn't it a bit much for the captain of the royal guard to investigate one monster's disappearance?" A common guard, Gaster could walk circles around. This woman, he isn't so sure.

"I don't believe you understand the full gravity of the situation," She says, stirring Gaster's ire with her patronizing tone. "The Underground is in a rut of stagnation and boredom. And now there's a high profile scientist who's missing, possibly dead—"

Saul gasps, and Mira has the decency to look apologetic.

"—My point is, the longer we let this drag on, the more the press, slavering for _anything_ to report, is going to make both the royal guards and scientists look like fools. So the sooner we solve this case, the better for all of us. I know this city, I know how people think. If someone did something to this monster, I'll find out who." Her gaze flicks to Gaster. "Or would you rather I put someone less experienced on the job?"

"I was simply curious." Gaster all but bares his neck in submission.

"Snap and I are here now to get your initial statements. We want to know everything; who Anton is, who his friends are, when you last saw him. Also—"

Snapdragon pushes a form and pen towards Gaster.

"We need your permission to take the sifting prototypes from the lab and put them to use."

Gaster looks to Em, a touch embarrassed. Something was in development in his lab, and he, so wrapped up in his own work, had most likely blindly signed the approval paperwork months ago.

"It's a magical skimmer of sorts," Em explains. "It'll collect dust particles mixed into water. Too many monsters have gotten away with murder by disposing of the evidence." Em turns to Mira. "But you don't really think Anton is…dead…right?"

"We just want to make sure we're covering all our bases," Mira says, not unkindly. "Doctor, we need your signed permission to remove the prototypes."

Gaster picks up the pen and signs. There's little else he can do, really.

"Now," Says Mira, as Snapdragon tucks the signed form away. "Tell me everything."

* * *

Credit where credit is due—Captain Mira was mercilessly thorough, grilling the assembled scientists on anything and everything, Snapdragon dutifully taking it all down. Em was the last one of the group to see him; he was still at the lab when she went home for the night. Mira's next step is to requisition the tapes from the cameras for the front doorway; Gaster allows this. He had opportunity enough to sabotage the tapes, but did not see the point. Em could reliably confirm Anton left after her, and to mess with the tapes would only tip the guard off that someone within the lab had something to hide. No, it was better to seem innocent and let the guard sweep through without any trouble. If Gaster is especially fortunate, Anton has some jilted lover from years ago with a score to settle.

Admittedly, Gaster had not anticipated the existence of the sifters. And oh, how ironic it would be, for him to be undone by a tool created in his own lab! But so what if they manage to find Anton's dust within the river. So what? There's still nothing to link Gaster to the murder. Gaster burned Anton's cellphone and clothing the night of the crime, then gathered up the ash from his fireplace and dumped it in the magma. He effectively disposed of any evidence that proved Anton was around him.

Gaster has no known motive to kill Anton, and, best of all—he has a witness to cement his alibi at the time of the crime.

Said alibi sits before him on his bed, fidgeting. A week has passed by since the initial questioning, enough for any suspicion to slide off Gaster's back, enough for him to feel safe enough to pull this stunt. Gaster takes the day off from work, calling in to express his apologies, citing exhaustion. His assistants are understanding, Em even remarking that he needs to take more vacation days. Gaster also arranged for Papyrus to skip school, waving goodbye to his brother and then abandoning the school gates for Gaster's home.

Now his pretty prize sits uncomfortably atop Gaster's sheets, with nervous anticipation for whatever Gaster's about to do next.

"Oh, how I've missed you." Gaster sighs gustily into Papyrus' collarbone, delighting in how it makes him shiver.

Papyrus no longer resists his advances, the threats against his brother making him pliant. Gaster should have threatened Sans sooner.

Gaster licks at Papyrus' sensitive neck, a hand winding down to rub against his sacrum. The boy tries to be unhappy about this, but it's hard for him to focus on frowning under Gaster's assault. The lights in his eye sockets glaze over as he's consumed by the sensations.

Papyrus bucks against Gaster's hand, a slave to his desire. Gaster's gaze lingers hungrily on Papyrus' smooth, exposed collarbone—and he bites down, hard enough to draw marrow, which wells to the roof of his mouth. The simultaneous jolts of pain and pleasure must be overwhelming—the boy's soul pulses hard in his chest. Magic drips down from it shamelessly, soiling Gaster's hand. Papyrus shudders, staring up at him with want, and Gaster needs—he needs—

Gaster disentangles himself from Papyrus, pushing himself upright on the bed. Concentrating, he summons forth his own soul, a dark violet. It is already slightly sticky with his arousal. He holds it out.

"Take it."

"I—I shouldn't. I'm not supposed to…"

But Papyrus reaches forward regardless, limbs still quivering from stimulation. He squeezes too hard with his inexperienced grasp. Gaster can't help but moan loudly, and Papyrus releases his soul as if it burned him.

"Did that h-hurt? I don't—I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Get off the bed." Gaster rasps.

Papyrus obeys.

"On your knees."

Uneasily, Papyrus kneels on the plush carpet. Gaster guides his soul back into Papyrus' hands. If the boy were the vengeful type, he could try to crush the soul in his grip, inflict devastating pain upon Gaster. But it is precisely because he knows Papyrus would never do it that he trusts him with his soul.

"Rub it again, but gently." Gaster instructs.

Papyrus' thumbs glide across the soul, in a rhythm unsteady at first, that gradually grows more confidant.

"That's it, that's it. Keep that up."

Despite his coaxing, Papyrus' fingers falter as Gaster disrobes, his growing erection on full display.

"Keep going," Gaster growls. Papyrus hurries to obey, stroking the soul at a faster and rougher pace than before, to make up for the momentary lapse.

"Now, whatever you do," Gaster pushes Papyrus' mouth open, as wide as it will go. "Don't bite down."

Gripping the sides of Papyrus' skull with both hands, he slides his erection into Papyrus' mouth.

Papyrus gags before he's even halfway in, reflexively clenching Gaster's soul in his hand. The rush of direct pleasure to his soul makes Gaster thrust instinctively, forcing himself completely into Papyrus' mouth. Papyrus is crying now, but his soul still drips with desire. Gaster gets into a rhythm, sliding out until the tip of his erection is all that remains inside Papyrus' mouth, before sliding fully in again. Papyrus, moaning around Gaster's erection, presses the pulsating soul to his pelvis and bucks against it frantically.

"So good, Papyrus, you're _so good_ —"

Gaster comes, semen splattering down Papyrus' mouth and ribs, his soul shooting out a gush of magic against Papyrus' pelvis. Papyrus swiftly follows after him, with a groan muffled by the erection still wedged inside his mouth.

Gaster slips out of him, and Papyrus collapses to the floor. Gaster reclaims his soul, pushing it back inside his chest, and sits back to admire his handiwork. Papyrus is coated from head to hips in mixed fluids, looking positively wrecked. He's incapable of coherent speech, murmuring half-formed phrases that are lost after leaving his mouth.

Gaster bends over him, peppering kisses on his skull.

"Wonderful, Papyrus. Wonderful. You did so well. You're so good."

He pauses his ministrations, glances at the clock hung on the wall. Minutes left until the stroke of eleven. They still have hours to go.

He'll permit Papyrus a few minutes to recover. His soul jumps eagerly in his chest, already anticipating the next round.

* * *

Gaster's day with Papyrus leaves him sated and content. He walks to work the following day with a bit of a spring in his step. The morning air of New Home is crisp, but his coat and brisk pace stave off the cold. He's forced to unbutton the coat as he nears the lab, Hotland's ever-present heat making him start to sweat.

His good mood evaporates as he reaches the front of the lab. Blocking the way to the entrance is a throng of news-hungry reporters, cameras already rolling. They catch sight of him and rush over, and suddenly Gaster has fifteen microphones shoved in his face.

"Dr. Gaster? What is your response to Anton's death? Were you two close?"

"Does this have something to do with Project BOMB?"

"Do the guard have any leads? What are your suspicions?"

On and on go the questions. Scowl on his face, Gaster forcibly pushes through the crowd.

"Get out of my way."

Still they cling and swarm, desperate for a crumb of information. The flash from cameras is nearly blinding. He's here to work, not deal with this.

Finally, he gets to the door. Gaster grasps the handle, but it won't budge. Locked. Cursing, he fumbles for his employee card. He's saved from having to locate it when the door opens the slightest of cracks, the receptionist peeking out at him. She opens the door just enough for Gaster to squeeze through and then slams it shut again, nearly squashing reporters' hands in the door jamb.

"Sorry, Dr. Gaster. I locked it as soon as the crowd started to gather, to keep them from disturbing anyone inside."

"You did well, Ms. Stanton." Gaster straightens his tousled attire. "But tell me—do you know why they all say Anton is dead?"

Stanton's face falls. "You didn't catch the news last night, did you, sir?"

He hadn't. After Papyrus was cleaned up and sent back home, Gaster spent the remainder of the day in a euphoric haze, before passing into a dreamless sleep.

Gaster bids farewell to the receptionist and lets himself into the longue area on his usual floor. Grabbing a remote, he turns on the television set, switching to the channel that shows reruns of yesterday's programming.

That insufferable captain stands before gathered monsters in a press conference.

"….from several sources." Mira is in the middle of an explanation. "We discovered dust from, as of now, sixteen different monsters, all reported missing. Anton Belikov was confirmed to be one of them."

The room erupts into questions. Mira calmly holds up her hand, and the ground gradually falls silent again.

"My best guards are out investigating the other murders, and I personally am handling the Belikov case. These criminals will be caught swiftly and face due justice. Our prayers are with the lost monsters' loved ones."

Mira leaves the conference, and the feed cuts back to the news anchor table.

"We have reached out to King Asgore for a comment, but he has declined at this point. We will keep you updated as—"

Gaster shuts off the television, having seen enough. Anton has been confirmed dead, faster than he expected. But it is no matter. The river is huge and well known; just about anyone could have dumped the ashes in the rushing water.

Determined to not let his nerves take a hold of him, Gaster brews a pot of coffee and gets to work. He was hoping the files of the monsters who donated magic might give him some insight into the constructs' mentalities, but he hasn't been met with much success.

Em, Saul, and Sans slowly file in, expressions downcast.

"I see you've all heard the news."

"I had my suspicions, but I never thought…" Em shakes her head. "It just doesn't seem real, somehow."

"I just don't understand _why_." Sans says, sounding heartbroken and frustrated. "He never seemed like the type to make enemies. So why would he be killed?"

"That's what I'd like to find out."

They turn to find Mira in the doorway, some papers tucked under her arm.

"Captain Mira," Gaster greets her, trying his best to mask his agitation with her presence.

Mira grunts at him and slaps down five binder-clipped stacks of paper on the table.

"These are summons for all of you to attend a formal questioning tomorrow, along with copies of your rights."

"Haven't we already told you everything you know?"

Mira glowers at Gaster, yellow eyes flashing. "Perhaps the formality of the meeting will help jog your memory for any additional details."

The captain breaks eye contact with Gaster to lock in on Sans.

"Sans, was it?"

"That's my name, don't wear it out."

Mira picks two stacks from the pile and holds them out to the small skeleton.

"You'll have to bring your brother along with you tomorrow."

Sans' grin grows strained. "Excuse me?"

"Aside from the sister and her family, the four of you were the ones he had the most contact with. If anyone was responsible for this, one of you knows something about it. Maybe one of you even did it."

"That's outrageous!" Saul jumps up, hands balling into fists. "We would _never_ hurt him."

"Papyrus is too young for something like this," Sans says, voice like steel. "You have no right to drag him into it."

"If his story matches up with Gaster here, that's all well and good. But if it does not, and Gaster stepped out for a minute or two just to "grab something"—Papyrus would know."

"I do not appreciate what you are implying, captain." Gaster says, coolly.

Mira snorts. "I don't give a rat's ass what you appreciate. But if any of you don't show up tomorrow, I will not hesitate to drag you, physically and publically, to the guard station. Anyone else have anything to say?"

The room is silent.

"Read your rights. I'll be seeing you all tomorrow."

Mira stomps from the room.

"I can't believe her nerve!" Saul sits back in his chair with a huff. "What a rude person—to insinuate that _you_ , Dr. Gaster, of all people—!"

"I'm sure she's under tremendous pressure to find a culprit," Em cuts in. "Still, the way she spoke to all of us was highly uncalled for."

Em drapes her tail around Sans' shoulder, her version of a one-armed hug. Sans has crinkled the corner of the summons in his fist.

"Papyrus will be fine. It'll just be a few questions."

"That better be all it is. Or they'll have me to answer to." Sans vows.

* * *

The following morning finds Gaster in a waiting room at the guard station. Em is the first one brought in for questioning, leaving the rest of them waiting. On Gaster's right sits Saul, tapping away at a game on his phone to take his mind off of the stressful situation. On his left is Sans, Papyrus at his side. The boy has brought a book of difficult Sudoku puzzles along, but he can't seem to focus properly to solve them, spending more time erasing mistakes than writing correct numbers.

A camera is positioned in a top corner of the room, recording their every word and movement. Even if Gaster wanted to take Papyrus aside, he couldn't. Nevertheless, Gaster is sure of his conditioning. He went over the alibi with Papyrus until he could recite it by heart, and the ever-present threat against his brother is sure to guarantee his silence.

On the other side of the room sit Ivana and her family. Ivana wears a hand-knitted sweater, of similar make to those Anton used to wear. Her daughter's head is pillowed in her lap, and Ivana scratches the top of her head soothingly. Her husband eyes the lot of them distrustfully. Evidently he was buying into the tales the media has been spinning about the scientists.

After Em, Ivana's family is called in one by one. Em sticks around for moral support, teaming up with Saul to engage Papyrus in conversation and out of his shell.

After the cat family is sent out, Saul is called in. Then Sans. All three scientists promise to watch over Papyrus in the meantime. Sans pats his brother on the skull and steps inside. His session with the guard lasts nearly as long as Em's and Saul's combined, but eventually he emerges from the room. Snapdragon steps out with him, staring down impassively at a clipboard.

"Dr. Gaster."

All eyes are on Gaster as he fluidly stands, making his way over. Snapdragon leads him down the hall to a room empty save for Mira, a table, and three chairs.

Snapdragon reclaims his seat by the captain's side, leaving Gaster to take the chair directly under the lamp, a classic gambit to make a suspect uncomfortable. Gaster merely rolls up his sleeves.

"Wingdings Gaster. Born above surface, migrated down when the barrier was sealed. One of the last of your species. Never married. Didn't want to further the line?"

"I had more on my mind than begetting children."

"Yes, yes," Mira says, unimpressed, as she scans his file. "Dr. Gaster, the great savior of the Underground, who harnessed the Core's power to give us all the electricity we use to light our homes." She looks up from her notes. "You know, I donated to Project BOMB myself. I gave so much magic that day, I passed out."

"Are you expecting a medal?"

"It must really rile you," Mira barrels on. "You've been on top for so long, and now you're scrambling to make this next project work."

Mira leans over the table, glaring him down. Gaster stares up defiantly into those yellow eyes.

"Anton Belikov stayed late that night to do further research. He discovered something, and couldn't wait until tomorrow. So he rushes to your house to tell you his findings. Maybe he found the solution that you were so desperately searching for. Or maybe he had an altogether different plan for shattering the barrier. Either way, you couldn't take it. Who was _he_ , your lowly assistant, to succeed where _you_ failed? To steal the credit that you deserved?"

If she's expecting an angry outburst, she won't get one. Gaster folds his hands calmly on the table.

"All of this is speculation. Anton was an exceptional employee, and I am deeply sorry he's no longer with us."

Mira sinks back down into her chair.

"Are you sure he was actually killed?" Gaster continues.

"Dust doesn't lie."

"No, I mean—Anton was an amiable monster, but it was always clear to me there was something beneath the surface. Perhaps he was stressed and unhappy, and decided to, well…take matters into his own hands."

"And what?" Mira arches one red eyebrow. "His dust magically got dumped into the river?"

"It could have blown in."

"You don't seem to know Anton as well as the others seem to." Mira steers the conversation back to where she wants it.

"It is true that I was not as close to Anton as the others were, but I was somewhat distant to all three of them. My position as their boss created an insurmountable gap."

"Except for Sans." Snapdragon taps his pen against his teeth, thoughtfully. "You seem to show an interest in him and his brother."

"Yes, tell us, Gaster." Mira is on the attack again. "How would you describe your relationship with Sans and Papyrus?"

This is the real moment of truth. Gaster takes a deep breath.

"To be perfectly frank with you, Sans can be something of a little shit at work. He distracts the staff with pranks and puns— _endless_ puns. But, he has drive and ambition, and the talent to back them up. Despite the grief he gives me, I hired him for good reason."

"And Papyrus?" Mira prompts.

"I've told Sans before what I'm telling you now. I haven't pried too far, but it's clear Sans is the only "adult" in the picture for Papyrus. I suppose I see myself as a surrogate parental figure for the boy."

"And the gifts?"

"What parent wouldn't want to see their child properly clothed and fed?"

Mira and Snapdragon continue to barrage him with questions—even insinuating, at one point, that Gaster and Sans were engaged in an affair, to Gaster's amusement—but no matter how they poke and prod they can't get around his impeccable poker face and perfect responses. It's with great frustration and reluctance that Mira dismisses him, and Gaster walks back with Snapdragon to the waiting room.

"Papyrus." The royal guard summons. Sans leads his younger brother to the door, but Snapdragon bars the way.

" _Only_ Papyrus."

"Why can't I go in with him?" Sans challenges. Papyrus grips the hem of his shirt, twisting it anxiously, wide eyes darting between Sans and Snapdragon.

"We want him to feel safe enough to speak freely."

"He's safe with me—he tells me everything!"

"Sans." Gaster puts a hand on the skeleton's shoulder. "It will go all the more faster if you simply cooperate."

Biting back a frustrated sigh, Sans crouches down in front of Papyrus.

"Look, bro. You've done nothing wrong and won't get in trouble. Just tell the guards the truth, alright?"

Papyrus nods. Sans leans in and gives his brother a quick hug.

"I'll be waiting right here for you when you're done, okay?" Sans promises.

"Okay," Papyrus says, meekly.

Sans backs off, and Snapdragon leads Papyrus back to the interrogation room.

"Sit and calm yourself." Gaster steers Sans back into one of the plastic chairs. He only notices now that they're alone in the room. "Where have Em and Saul gone?"

"I told 'em to go home." Sans says, his weariness palpable. "Not much else for them to do here."

Gaster takes a seat beside Sans.

"I will remain with you until Papyrus returns."

"Aw, doc. You don't have to."

"I don't mind. I imagine this is hard for you."

And he needs to know what Papyrus says to them. If he tells the truth—the real truth—Mira will charge into the waiting area, magic drawn. Gaster is sure he'd be able to evade her long enough to get away. But if Gaster wasn't here, it would give the hot-headed captain time to cool down, to carefully plan out his capture. Given that, she might succeed.

Sans clears his throat, awkwardly.

"Listen, doc. I don't mean any offense, but…I think it'd be best if Papyrus stopped coming to your place for language lessons."

"I understand—"

"I'm not accusing you of anything, really! I just think—"

"Sans, it's alright. Truly. I'm not offended." Besides, with Papyrus skipping class now and again, Gaster has been managing to get his fix in other ways for some time now.

"I just want to keep him close, until this all blows over. The media crowd has been nice enough to leave him alone for now, but still."

"I have taught Papyrus several memorization techniques. He should be fine."

Sans tips back in his chair, balancing his body weight by its back two legs alone.

"This is crazy, isn't it? I hope they find whoever did this soon."

"With someone like her on the case, I'm sure they will."

That manages to get a short chuckle out of Sans.

After an agonizing wait for the two of them, Papyrus returns with Snapdragon in tow.

"How'd it go?" Sans takes Papyrus' hand.

"Fine." Papyrus says.

"They didn't give you a hard time, did they?"

Papyrus shakes his head. "They were really nice."

"You're all set for today," Snapdragon says. "If we need anything else, we'll be in touch."

Sans looks down at his brother.

"How does ice cream for lunch sound?"

" _Sans_!" Papyrus scolds him, though without the usual heat. "That's unhealthy!"

"A milkshake, then." Sans leads his brother to the door, Gaster trailing behind the pair. "There's milk in it. Calcium. For strong bones."

"I _suppose_ a milkshake is acceptable."

As they're about to walk out the door, Papyrus glances back at Gaster, and gives him the smallest of nods.

* * *

It's several days before Gaster feels secure enough to meet with Papyrus again. The frenzied media started to follow him back to his house. Gaster complained to the guard—he's a monster that requires peace and quiet to work—and the guard issued a mandate that the press can only hound him in New Home proper and around the entrance to the lab.

A few daring reporters ignored the warning, tromping onto Gaster's private property in the hopes of snapping an exclusive picture. Gaster was brought to the point where he was forced to weave a perimeter spell around the borders of his property. Now, the first steps into his turf by an unauthorized monster will inflict them with frostbite; continuing further will freeze them solid. The reporters got the hint and stopped showing up, glaring sullen daggers at him each day as he enters the lab.

Once his perimeter is firmly established, he arranges for Papyrus to meet him.

"Did anyone see you?" Gaster asks, as he lets Papyrus in.

"No. I took the path through the woods, like you said."

Gaster kneels down and kisses the side of Papyrus' skull, fingers reverently stroking the boy's mandible. The first of many rewards he intends to bestow upon Papyrus today.

"Dr. Gaster? There's—There's something I want to say."

"Go on then."

Papyrus fidgets, gathering his courage. Then, he blurts:

"I think we should stop this. I won't tell anyone. Not Sans, not Captain Mira, no one. I _promise_."

Gaster sighs. "And to think, today I was going to reward you for your good behavior at the guard station."

"I don't want to do this any more. I just don't!"

Gaster idly traces the contours of Papyrus' skull with his long fingers.

"You surprise me, Papyrus, with your utter selfishness."

Papyrus is taken aback, face crinkling with hurt. "W-What?"

"No wonder they never want to play with you on the school ground. No wonder they all hate you. You never think of anyone besides yourself."

"That's n-not true! I—"

"Who do you care about? Truly? Who would you place above yourself? _Sans_? You don't really love him, not for who he is. He's a slob that leaves messes everywhere and drives you up the wall with bad humor that he never knows when to turn off. But he clothes and shelters you, he _entertains_ you."

"Stop it!" Papyrus shrieks. "That's not—I'm not—"

"Sans does so much for you, but when you need to do this _one_ thing to protect him, you refuse. _I_ have given you so much, more than you could ever imagine, and still you deny me."

Gaster takes Papyrus by the wrist, leading him to the bedroom.

"But I will show you how wrong you are. How good this can be."

He pushes Papyrus onto the bed, but does not climb on top of him as he usually does.

"Disrobe," Gaster orders. With trembling hands, the boy starts to strip.

Gaster rummages through his closet until he locates the dress. He carefully unwraps his beloved's dress, and brings it out into the open for Papyrus to see. The boy has stripped down to nothing, knees tight to his chest for some modicum of modesty.

"Put this on."

Gaster looks away while Papyrus dresses, wanting the sight to be a surprise. The fabric shifts, the bed creaks. Gaster waits.

"I-I'm done." Papyrus whispers out.

Gaster turns, and the sight takes his breath away. The blue silk and purple trim look beautiful against the alabaster of Papyrus' bones.

The dress is a little too large for him, the shoulder straps slipping down his arms. Papyrus struggles to tug the fabric up, to hide his semi-bared chest, but that just lifts the bottom of the dress higher, teasing Gaster with a glimpse of his femurs.

Gaster closes the distance between them in an instant, licking and sucking at Papyrus' bared collarbone. Papyrus squeaks as Gaster reaches under the dress, up through his ribcage, to pull out Papyrus' soul.

"No! Don't touch— _ahnnn._ "

Gaster takes Papyrus' soul into his mouth, swirling it around with his tongue. The heat of Gaster's mouth and the stimulation from his tongue leave Papyrus moaning for more.

Gaster removes the soul from his mouth, holding it in one hand, stroking it firmly. With his free hand, Gaster lifts the bottom frills of the dress, exposing Papyrus' squirming pelvis. Gaster drags his tongue across Papyrus' ilium. The musty scent of the dress mixes delightfully with Papyrus' scent and arousal.

"Oh, mmm, yes, that's—ahn—nice…"

Papyrus falls apart under his touch. While his tongue explores the contours of Papyrus' pelvis, he also starts to focus some magic into the palm which holds Papyrus' soul.

Part of the reason soul protection is so emphasized in schools is still unknown to Papyrus, taught at a much older age. The soul is the raw, sensitive essence of a monster's being. Someone in possession of another monster's soul can inflict pain and pleasure—but also, ideas. A monster can exert thoughts and emotions onto vulnerable, open souls such as a child's, such as Papyrus'. Gripping Papyrus' soul tightly in his fist, he infuses it with the need to submit, the desire to serve, a bottomless lust to worship another. It won't be enough to radically flip Papyrus' personality, but now, lurking within his subconscious, will be the urge to be dominated and possessed by another.

Papyrus cries out as he's brought to a shuddering climax. He gazes dully up at Gaster, face flushed.

"Do you see now, Papyrus?" Gaster murmurs against the dripping texture of his soul. "This is what you were _made_ for."


	4. Presents

Gyftmas is but a week away, and the streets of New Home have erupted in a flurry of activity. The commercial district is crammed with last-minute shoppers, all jockeying for remaining stock. Other monsters scavenge their gifts from the dump, from the mountains of human garbage that pollute their rivers. Gaster prefers items made by monsters. They're typically more expensive than whatever is scrounged up from the trash, but more care and craft is put into them; unlike humans, monsters take pride in their work.

Gaster makes his way through the crowd, brushing errant flakes of snow from his face. The Underground does not have natural weather patterns. The area around the Core is perpetually hot, thanks to the exposed magma. Waterfall is a muggy swamp, and Snowdin, perpetually frigid. Home had been chosen first and foremost for its neutral temperature. And, once they had moved, New Home was selected for the very same reason.

Still, monsters haven't forgotten the shifts of the seasons. To put monsters in a merry mood around Gyftmas, King Asgore had the royal scientists create a snow machine years ago, to shower New Home in flurries. It had been a simple design, all things considered, especially given Gaster's predilection for ice elemental magic.

Gaster cranes his neck upwards, squinting into the distance. Far above them, several of the snow machines are rigged up to the roof of their prison, sending fat, fluffy flakes of snow down to the populace.

After much wading through crowds, Gaster finally reaches his destination: Toyland. The largest shop in the Underground for children's toys.

Gaster steps inside, frowning at the sizeable crowd of parents and relatives crammed into the aisles, all fighting to snatch the latest gadgets off the shelves. Normally, Gaster would perform his Gfytmas shopping weeks ahead of schedule, to avoid this very thing. But Mira's investigation, along with the dogged paparazzi, left him little time to himself. Just as he expected, though, the boiling pace of the investigation has settled down to a simmer. The captain can't move forward without any solid leads. The press, desperate to drag out the story, dug deep into Anton's past, unearthing a sordid history of gambling, many years ago. Rumors about Gaster and the science team gradually ebbed, the media shifting focus to a fresh angle; some old acquaintances had come to collect what they were owed.

Ivana vehemently and publically denied the defamation of her dear brother's name. Anton had changed for the better, had reinvented himself years ago. He had used his wages to pay off any outstanding debts he owed from back then. Someone else is responsible, Ivana insisted.

Her voice, however, is just one wave in an ocean of opinions, and with every week that passes, Anton slips more and more from an innocent victim to someone who got his comeuppance. And Gaster has hardly had to lift a finger to steer attention off of him.

Gaster walks down the aisles of the toy story, musing over Papyrus' gift. He has already gotten presents for those he was obligated to give to. He'd purchased a bouquet for Ivana's family, along with a handwritten card expressing his condolences. To the royal guard headquarters, he sent along a few bottles of chardonnay, to thank them for all their efforts in investigating his employee's murder. For Saul and Em, he picked up the traditional sheet of rich, delectable chocolates as he did every year.

Sans, he had given some thought to, and ultimately settled on a telescope. Back when Papyrus had begun his language lessons with Gaster, he had enthused over his numerous trips out to Waterfall with his brother, to gaze upon the glittering rocks. The telescope would be a perfect gift, if a bit ironic; instead of keeping a close eye on his younger brother, he delivered Papyrus up into Gaster's arms.

Gaster hesitates in the section of board games and puzzles. The young skeleton has demonstrated several times over his proficiency in such mental exercises. He scours the aisle, but ultimately leaves unsatisfied; the puzzles available are all too simple. Gaster wants to give Papyrus something he can use for a considerable amount of time. Something to remind the boy of him.

Gaster walks further into the store, passing simple gifts like toy trucks and action figures, stopping as he reaches a section of stuffed animals. The plush figures have been set up in a wonderful array. He immediately hones in on the stuffed rabbits; Papyrus mentioned on occasion his love for a bedtime story about them. Gaster picks out the one with the softest fur, the floppiest ears, the highest price tag. Papyrus deserves it.

He's almost to the register, when his attention is caught by something large and red. Gaster moves towards it, to get a closer look. It's a frame for a child's bed, thick plastic modeled to look like a sports car.

It's perfect, just what he is looking for; Papyrus won't be able to sleep without thinking of him. Gaster tugs the price tag off, and brings both it and the stuffed rabbit to the registers.

He's helped by a portly mouse monster. Cooper reads the nametag pinned to his cheery Gyftmas sweater. Mice are fond of names subtly related to cheese, their favored food. He scans the tag first.

"Oh! The racecar bed. I'm sure your boy will love it; many tykes have had their eye on it."

Cooper hands Gaster a blank card and a pen.

"Just write down your contact information, and we'll arrange for the bed to be delivered to your home."

Gaster does so. After Cooper tucks away the card, he picks up the stuffed animal.

"You want it boxed here, yes?"

Gaster nods.

Cooper swaddles the rabbit plush in green and red tissue paper, before putting it inside a red box.

"Now, what ribbon will you be having?"

The cashier gestures to a set of several ribbons behind him, all Gyftmas-themed.

Inspiration strikes.

"I'll take the one on the far end of the bottom row."

Cooper grabs a strand of green ribbon, spotted here and there with snowmen.

"Very good choice, sir."

"I must ask; are these the only styles you have?"

Cooper finishes tying off the bow on the present with a flourish.

"What exactly are you looking for?"

"I have some additional presents at home. They're already wrapped, but without bows." Gaster says. "Do you perhaps have a larger selection to choose from elsewhere?"

Cooper nods enthusiastically. "I'll take you out to storage, we've got all sorts!"

Tucking the wrapped present securely under his arm, Cooper leads him through the crowd, into an expansive back storage room.

"Some folks order from us all the way out in Snowdin, so we wrap the presents for them here before we ship them over." Cooper explains, as he leads Gaster to the wrapping station. There are boxes, wrapping paper, and spools of ribbon set out.

Gaster scans the colorful ribbon display, and his gaze falls upon the perfect choice. A pale lilac, silk-smooth and not too thick across.

Cooper cuts off a length of the ribbon, and bags it up for him. He's rung up swiftly, and Gaster leaves the shop, excitement making his soul thump hard in his chest.

* * *

School has been let out for the holiday.

Papyrus fabricates a believable lie to his brother—he's heading out to play in the fresh snow with some of his friends—and arrives on Gaster's doorstep before too long. There's no longer fear in Papyrus' eye lights, nor resigned acceptance. Instead, there's a detached calm to him as he's led into Gaster's bedroom.

His controlled veneer won't last long. Gaster delved into some of his older books in their time apart, which covered skeleton physiology. Skeletons are fairly unique monsters, in regards to their lack of visible sexual organs. This most likely came about due to their long lifespans; sex is less of an urgent need for them, compared to humans and other groups of monsters. This explains why they're more difficult to stimulate, as well. Skeletons frequently use their souls alone for the sake of sharing pleasure, reserving genitalia for solely reproductive purposes. However, with proper methods of stimulation, a skeleton monster can be aroused enough that genitals manifest instinctively.

Gaster hurriedly strips Papyrus of his many layers, tossing the clothing off the side of the bed.

"Lie down on your chest."

Papyrus obediently settles on the bed, but turns his head to watch as Gaster rummages through the bedside table, pulling out the length of ribbon. Gaster lets it unspool, then winds it back around his fingers.

Papyrus' face scrunches in confusion, unsure of Gaster's intentions. Well, he plans to enlighten him soon enough.

Gaster climbs onto the bed, situating his legs on either side of Papyrus' own. His hand brushes over Papyrus' pert little tailbone, to rest on his sacrum.

Papyrus strains his neck, trying to watch him.

"Eyes forward."

Papyrus reluctantly turns to stare ahead at the headboard of the bed.

Gaster's fingers trail along his sacrum, tracing and caressing every dip and curve of the bone. The simple touch has already had an impact on the boy. He's squirming at the feather-light touches, the dull glow of his soul lighting up his ribcage.

Gaster pinches the lilac ribbon between his fingers, and threads it through the first hole of Papyrus' sacrum.

He feels Papyrus flinch under his hands, his body uncomfortable with the sensation of something intrusive worming through the crevices of his body.

Gaster does not slow his ministrations, threading the ribbon through the small holes of Papyrus's sacrum until he reaches the top.

"Turn over."

Papyrus flips over gingerly, trying not to rest his pelvis on the bed. His face is aflame with both shame and arousal. Gaster leans in, and ties off the end of the ribbon into a bow.

Papyrus chokes off a broken moan as Gaster gives the bow a firm tug, tightening the knot. An orange glow emanates from his pelvis. Gaster strokes at it, encouraging his magic to coalesce.

"Come on, Papyrus, don't hold back. I want to see you."

Gaster tugs the ribbon roughly, and Papyrus shudders at the forceful jolt to his sensitive sacrum.

The magic at the tip of his pelvis swirls, thickens. Gaster draws his hand back, and Papyrus forms his cock for the first time.

"Wonderful, Papyrus." Gaster praises him.

It's small, but it's to be expected at his age. Gaster encloses his fist around it, and starts to slowly stroke, up and down. Gaster's teasing of his sacrum has already gotten him rather worked up, and Papyrus soon hardens in Gaster's hand, precome beading at the tip.

Papyrus rocks up, pressing into his hand. He's unused to this form of stimulation, but he clearly enjoys it.

Gaster swipes his thumb over the head. It doesn't take much to bring Papyrus to the edge, overstimulated as he is.

Gaster reaches a hand under him, and grips the crisscrossed ribbons and yanks _hard_.

With a wordless cry, Papyrus comes, hot ejaculate filling Gaster's cupped hand.

Gaster brings his slickened fingers up to his mouth, sucking at the taste that is so distinctly Papyrus.

"You liked that, didn't you?"

"…Yes." Papyrus admits. There's little point in denying it, the truth still dripping from Gaster's fingers.

Gaster pulls him closer.

"Let's see what else you'll enjoy."

* * *

Sans is at the door waiting for him as he reaches their apartment. His grin is wide; it seems the impending holiday has allowed him to set aside his stress and grief for the moment.

"Glad you could make it, doc. Come on in."

Sans steps back, letting his boss inside. Gaster kicks the snow off his boots onto the welcome mat. He had had the racecar bed sent here after placing the order. Two days later, Sans called him up, claiming he'd never seen Papyrus so excited. As thanks for his generous gift, Sans invited him over to share in their Gyftmas Eve dinner.

Gaster observes the apartment space with a critical eye. The skeleton brothers aren't living in cramped squalor, but the apartment is snug, a cozy size. The bed must have _just_ fit in Papyrus' room.

He hands off two wrapped presents to Sans.

"More stuff? Doc, you really didn't have to."

"It was no trouble." Gaster waves Sans' sentiment away.

Paper decorations, undoubtedly Papyrus' doing, are taped up along the walls, showing various winter scenes, such as Papyrus with a Gyftrot, and he and Sans smiling beside a pair of snowmen. Snowflakes have been cut out of construction paper and placed on the windows. Gaster notes that Papyrus was clever enough to use a different pattern for each cutout; no two snowflakes are alike, after all.

A Gyftmas tree is nestled in the corner of the living room, wrapped in multicolored lights which cast a pleasant glow around the room.

Only one present is set below the tree so far. It's shoddily wrapped, "To Sans" scrawled on the paper in a chicken scratch penmanship; Papyrus' gift to his brother, probably hand-made in one of his school classes.

Sans settles Gaster's presents underneath the tree as well.

"Tell me, how has Papyrus been?" As far as Sans is aware, Gaster has not seen Papyrus since they were all called in to the royal guard headquarters.

Sans glances over towards the hallway, but there's no sign of Papyrus emerging from his room yet.

"He'd been feelin' a bit down, the past couple days before the bed came," Sans says, lowly so as not to be overheard. "He came back from playing with his friends all sore and half-frozen."

Half-frozen? Gaster's brows furrow. He'd assumed Papyrus had gone straight home after their session. What had he been thinking, dawdling out in the cold for?

"So I kind of, uh, banned him from going outside for a bit."

Now that won't do.

"You shouldn't punish him so severely. I'm sure he simply lost track of time."

"What, are you tellin' me how to parent, now?" There's a bite to his voice, underneath his joking tone.

"Of course not. You've done a wonderful job of raising Papyrus."

There's the sound of a door opening from deeper inside the apartment.

"Sans, is someone here?"

Sans moves past Gaster to meet his brother at the end of the hallway.

"Sure is, kiddo. Look who it is."

Sans steps out of the way, letting them get a view of each other. Papyrus is dressed for Gyftmas, in bright red jeans and a thick, festive sweater. There's the pattern of a wreath sewn into the front, complete with two jingling red bells serving as sprigs of holly.

Gaster smiles at him. "Hello, Papyrus. It's wonderful to see you again."

Sans frowns at Papyrus' stricken expression.

"Pap?"

"Sans, why is he here?" Papyrus asks, weakly.

"I thought—didn't you like going over his place?" Confusion is thick in Sans' voice with his brother's odd reaction. "And he got you that nice bed and everything."

"I'm sure he's just being shy." Gaster cuts in. He flashes a sharp look at Papyrus over his brother's shoulders.

"I'm just…surprised." Papyrus manages. "Dr. Gaster is very busy."

"Not busy enough to miss out on paying a visit to my number one student."

Gaster holds out his arms in welcome invitation. Papyrus hesitates, only for a moment, and then rushes over to give the doctor a hug. Gaster's hand comes down, patting Papyrus on the back. He can feel Papyrus' bones rattling beneath his sweater.

The boy startles as an alarm beeps.

"Whoops. That'll be the rolls." Sans hurries into the kitchen to grab them out of the oven before they can burn.

Once Sans is far enough away, Gaster grips Papyrus' collarbone firmly.

"Behave," He warns.

Papyrus shudders at his low tone, but this time, not out of fear.

They move into the kitchen area, just as Sans removes the pan of rolls from the oven, levitating it out with his magic up to a cooling rack. The pleasant smell wafts throughout the room.

Gaster and Papyrus take seats at the table, the latter sitting atop a cushion to boost his height.

Gaster hunts around for a cloth napkin, but finds none. He resigns himself to laying a paper towel over his lap instead.

Sans lays out a complete spread for the dinner: roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, glazed carrots, cranberry sauce, and of course the rolls, which managed to escape the oven only lightly singed. The multitude of dishes just barely leaves enough space on the table for their individual plates.

A cup of milk is given to Papyrus, while Sans brings out a bottle of wine for the two of them.

Gaster picks up the bottle. A store brand, but expensive. Gaster appreciates Sans' efforts to create a proper holiday meal, even if the overall result is lacking.

Sans and Gaster serve themselves, but Sans spoons Papyrus' meal onto his plate himself.

From the corner of his eye, Gaster watches Papyrus pick at his meal. But when Sans glances his way, he always has a forkful of food halfway up to his mouth.

"Tell me, Papyrus. How has school been? You've been keeping up with your studies, I hope."

The boy's grades have actually been slipping as of late, but Gaster has signed off on every paper with Sans' forged signature.

"Great!" Papyrus lies through his teeth. "After the break, we're starting a new monster language. Feline!"

"That reminds me of a joke." Sans says. "Would you like to hear it?"

"No." Is Papyrus' immediate response.

Sans continues on anyway. "Great, here it goes. Why didn't the teacher trust the cat monster?"

"Sans."

"Because he was a _cheetah_."

"Sans!" Papyrus moans, but his mouth pulls up into a genuine smile for the first time tonight.

The dinner continues on in much the same way. Gaster asks questions about Papyrus' going-ons at school, which allows the boy to chatter on at length. Sans interjects occasionally, always armed with puns and bad humor. It's hardly the most stimulating conversation, but Sans very clearly does not want to talk about work with Papyrus in the room, which greatly limits Gaster's discussion topics.

When they've cleared their plates, Sans stacks their dirty dishes atop one another.

"I'll wash up," Sans carries the precarious stack of dishes over to the sink. "Pap, why don't you show the doctor how cool the bed looks?"

"Sure!" Papyrus agrees, with feigned enthusiasm.

Papyrus leads Gaster through the hall. They pass by a bathroom and a smaller room, heading for the master bedroom.

"Here's my room," Papyrus mumbles, without aplomb.

Gaster steps inside, taking a moment to soak it all in. The racecar bed has automatically become the centerpiece of the room, the bright red really popping out against the white walls.

Gaster inspects the bookshelf, a curious medley of puzzle books and children's bedtime stories. A multitude of action figures are stuffed into an overflowing toy chest. There's a small desk where Papyrus must do his homework. Above it is a window, which leads to the apartment's fire escape. A thick padding of snow is building on the frame of the sill.

Papyrus fidgets in place as Gaster walks around his room. How many nights has Papyrus lain awake in here, crying furious tears over Gaster's touch? And now the monster is here, invading his place of refuge. Gaster can only imagine how Papyrus feels at this moment.

Gaster inspects the desk. Three pencils are lined up in a perfectly straight row, right beside a sketchbook. Curious, Gaster flips through it. He's not sure quite what he expects to find, but there's not a hint of grief or rage in these pages. There are a few sketches of Sans—sleeping in every single one—as well as a few landscapes. Well done, especially considering his age. Papyrus might be able to make something of his artistic talent, one day.

"These are impressive." Gaster commends him.

"…Thank you, Dr. Gaster."

"Sit down with me." Gaster takes a seat on the bed. Papyrus sits as well, but too far away from Gaster for his preference.

Gaster slings an arm around his shoulder, pulling Papyrus close enough that their knees press against each other. The bells on Papyrus' sweater jingle at the movement. Gaster's hand starts to stroke and massage Papyrus' neck.

"But Sans is…"

"Distracted with the dishes." But excitement coils in his gut; there's something undeniably thrilling about indulging in this when Sans is a mere twenty feet away.

Gaster tilts Papyrus' chin up, and engages him in a hungry kiss. Papyrus reciprocates, forming his own tongue. After getting him to form his ecto-genitals, manifesting his tongue was simple.

Gaster's hand trails down, stroking the front of the boy's pants. Already growing wet, needy; if Gaster keeps this up much longer, the fabric will be soaked through.

So reluctantly, Gaster disentangles from Papyrus, readjusting the boy's clothes. Papyrus is dazed, a heavy blush on his face.

After giving him a moment to recover, he steers Papyrus back into the living room, where Sans waits idly.

"What took you so long? Get lost?"

"Papyrus just wanted to show me his action figures." Gaster explains. "It was quite the collection."

"Aw Pap, you don't need to be embarrassed about it," Sans says, noticing his brother's blush.

"Brother, can I…get ready for bed?" His shoe traces an erratic pattern in the carpet.

Sans blinks, bemused. "Well, sure. But it's pretty early yet."

"The faster I go to sleep, the faster Santa will arrive!"

"Fair enough," Sans chuckles. "Say goodbye to the doc, first."

Papyrus gives Gaster a quick, blink-and-you'd-miss-it hug.

"Goodbye, doctor. Thank you for the bed."

"Of course."

"Goodnight, brother!"

Papyrus doesn't wait for Sans' reply, darting off into the bathroom, to presumably perform his nightly rituals before heading off to sleep.

"Guess it's just you an' me, now." Says Sans. "Want another drink?"

"If you're having one."

Sans retreats to the kitchen to fetch their glasses. Gaster hears running water stop, and then the sounds of doors opening and closing; Papyrus has successfully retreated to his room.

Sans returns, two glasses and the wine bottle in hand. He sets the bottle down on the coffee table, pouring them both a drink. He hands Gaster his filled wine glass before sitting down heavily on the couch beside him. Some of his wine sloshes over the brim, flecks getting onto his sweater. It'll set and stain for sure, but it's not like Sans cares.

"Thanks again for the bed, doc. He _loves_ cars; you really made Papyrus' Gyftmas with that present."

"As I've said, it's no problem at all. Your brother was a delight to teach, and effort deserves to be rewarded." Sans' glass is already half empty; Gaster tops him off. "And you, Sans. I'd like to thank you for keeping a level head in dealing with the guard investigation. It's rather regrettable that your first year with us has been so unusually stressful."

"This has definitely been a shitty way to end the year." Sans gulps down a few mouthfuls of wine, then rotates the glass in his hand, watching the red liquid slosh around. "I hope they catch the bastard who did it soon."

"As do we all."

"Anton never told you anything?" Sans presses. "You never read anything in his file about the, uh, gambling?"

"Anton was hired on years ago. If there had been anything to suggest an illicit past, it wasn't big enough to linger in my mind."

"I hope that's all it is." Sans mutters. "Old gambling debts. I thought maybe someone was picking off scientists or something."

"Don't let your imagination run away from you."

"Is that shitty of me, to be feeling relieved right now?"

Sans' glass is empty. Gaster plucks it from his hand, refilling it, and presses it back into his hand.

"You're concerned about the safety of you and your brother. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Yer right, as always." Sans slurs. His face is flushed with alcohol. How many drinks has he had tonight? Several over the course of dinner, several more now. His petite frame is no match for the quantity of alcohol that he's consuming.

"Oh shit," Sans stands, swaying. He grabs onto the couch to steady himself. "Gotta get the presents, put 'em out."

"I'll help you." Gaster grabs Sans by the crook of his arm, helping keep him upright. "Where have you stored them?"

"My room. Closet."

Sans wobbles into his bedroom, with Gaster's assistance. It's the utter opposite of Papyrus' room. He can barely see the floor, covered as it is with crumpled papers, food wrappers, and stray articles of clothing.

Gaster makes sure Sans has a firm grip on the frame of his bed before he lets go; Sans sways but remains upright.

Gaster opens the closet. The small thing is stuffed to the brim with presents, all hand wrapped neatly, lovingly. Papyrus would never guess Sans bought them for him simply because of how carefully they've been wrapped.

Gaster forms his caging magic around the presents, and lifts the whole load of presents up off the ground.

"I could'a got em," Sans protests.

"Just let me take care of it, Sans."

Keeping a secure grip on his employee, he brings him back out into the living room, the presents trailing behind.

Sans insists on being the one to lay the presents beneath the tree, so Gaster watches with mild amusement as he drunkenly arranges them.

"There!"

Sans plants his hands on his hips, surveying his handiwork. Some of the presents are haphazardly arranged, stacked precariously on top of each other, just short of falling. Sans nods approvingly.

"I should quit my job, become a, a box stacker." Sans grins up at him. "Hear that, doc? Box stacker."

"That's very nice, Sans."

His work concluded, Sans collapses back onto the couch.

"'m a bad host. 'is not my fault." Sans struggles valiantly to keep his eyes open, but the alcohol is running thick in his magic now, making him rather drowsy. "No one taught me this shit, yaknow?"

"I'll see myself out," Gaster promises, right before Sans' eye sockets slip closed.

Gaster waits, watching keenly. In the space of ten minutes, Sans' breathing evens out, as he falls deeper into sleep. When he starts to snore, Gaster gets up quietly, his shoes whispering across the carpeted floor. He walks as silently as possible to Papyrus' door, opening it just wide enough to slip inside before he shuts it again, sliding the lock in place.

The room is illuminated by the faint glow of a nightlight. Papyrus is curled on the bed overtop of the covers, in a loose t-shirt and old gym shorts.

Gaster moves over to the bed, pressing his hand to Papyrus' mouth. Papyrus' eye sockets fly open, and his instinctual scream of surprise is muffled in Gaster's hand.

"Keep quiet," Gaster warns, before his hand drops away.

"Not here," Papyrus whimpers.

"Sans won't hear a thing as long as you keep your mouth shut." Gaster works Papyrus' nightshirt up. The boy's soul is already glowing with anticipation. "Remember what's at stake here, Papyrus."

Gaster tugs off his shorts. Papyrus parts his legs willingly.

"Give me your soul."

With trembling hands, Papyrus draws his soul out into the open. He cradles it in his hands, before raising it up to offer it out to him. Gaster takes the soul, feels the flashes of fear and need clash and feed into each other.

Gaster brings forth his own soul, the violet construct dwarfing Papyrus' in size.

Carefully, Gaster brings the souls together. The film of fluids coating their souls mingles together, overflowing and drizzling down onto the bed, spattering Papyrus' bared spine. Gaster concentrates, exerting his soul's energy over Papyrus', leading the boy to form what he desires. Papyrus has no standard or comprehension of this, so it is up to Gaster to instruct him.

Papyrus' hips jolt, and he barely stifles his cry as a mound of magic forms at his pelvis.

"What…I don't…"

Gaster inspects the newly-formed pussy, prodding at the folds. His fingers come away slick.

"It's perfect." Gaster's hands fumble on his belt buckle, clumsy in his excitement.

Gaster exposes his erection to the air. He drags Papyrus up into a sitting position, placing the boy's hands on his length. Papyrus obeys the unspoken demand, hands squeezing and stroking.

As Papyrus works up his shaft, Gaster raises the boy's soul to his mouth, tongue lapping at its warm surface.

Papyrus lets slip a few quiet, breathy moans, his bones flushing with arousal.

Once Papyrus has gotten him stiff and hard, Gaster pushes him down onto the bed again. His pussy is wet and dripping, begging for attention. Gaster returns the boy's soul to his chest, and presses the tip of his shaft to Papyrus' folds.

He pushes inside. Papyrus yelps—he wasn't prepared, both figuratively and literally.

With a growl, Gaster claps a hand back over Papyrus' mouth to muffle any further noise.

Gaster's erection barely fits inside him, squeezing into Papyrus' pelvic inlet. Gaster plunges inside, seating himself fully.

Papyrus gasps beneath his hand. Gaster has pushed Papyrus' magic to its limit, stretching it to the top of his pelvis, almost brushing the bottom of his spine.

Gaster savors the moment. This is the first time he has entered Papyrus, filled him in such a manner. God, it's more amazing than he'd ever dreamed. Papyrus' walls grip him tightly, and the bones of his pelvis have stretched to accommodate him.

Gaster starts to move. He tries to go slow, ease Papyrus into it, but the feel of his warm, tight entrance, the smacking sound of flesh to bone—it frays his control rather quickly.

He thrusts deep inside Papyrus at an increasing rhythm. Drool from Papyrus' mouth pools against the palm he still has pressed to his mouth. Gaster watches Papyrus' expression, as the rolling waves of pleasure start to override the initial stabs of pain. Papyrus' hands come up to grip Gaster's shoulder blades, blunt nails digging in. He bucks against Gaster, no longer passive in the consummation, but an eager participant.

Gaster clutches Papyrus close as he climaxes. Papyrus ruts against him frantically, and his soul explodes inside his chest, magic coating the insides of his ribs.

Gaster pulls out of him. With two fingers, he spreads Papyrus' pussy open, letting his seed trickle out.

Papyrus grasps at Gaster's sweater, pulling his face up to meet his own. He presses his tongue to Gaster's mouth, needy whimpers escaping his mouth. Gaster parts his mouth, allowing him entrance, and they kiss.

"Doctor Gaster," Papyrus gasps out, hands curling tightly in Gaster's sweater. "Doctor, I…I…"

"Tell me what you need, my dear Papyrus."

"I…I need you." Papyrus presses skeletal kisses to Gaster's face, punctuating each repetition of the mantra. "I need you, I need you, I need you."

Gaster kisses away the tears that spill from Papyrus' eye sockets, gazing fondly down at him. This is how Papyrus should always be, pliant and perfect, his obedient toy. His ivory doll.


End file.
